Tag Archives: corporate card

Your Father Isn’t… Jimmy

10 Aug

Jimmy actually works in my field, so he invited me out for a “working dinner” to discuss ways our two organizations can work together (which is a meeting I do routinely in the office, but never over drinks at a bar). And, I find out later, so he can charge it to his corporate card.

Jimmy’s easily the cutest one I’ve dated so far, but I’m puzzled by his choice to wear worn jeans and a ratty t-shirt on a date. Even so, I have to admire his swagger as he strolls through the bar dressed like a gym rat.

He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t just steer a conversation; he drives it like a teenager in a borrowed Ferrari. Within the first twenty minutes he knows where I am from, my degree, my department and position, my parent’s degrees and professions, and how well connected I am to the upper echelons of my organization. I know that he works in marketing, drinks whiskey on the rocks and knows the waiter.

While he’s grilling me on my hobbies and activities outside work, I mention that I’ve gotten into boxing. This tidbit is usually a great conversation starter, or so I thought until Jimmy says, “Oh yea? Show me how you make a fist.”

Is this a trick question? I hesitantly make a fist, trying to figure out his angle and put it out over the table. ‘Maybe he’s just looking for an excuse to hold my hand,’ I tell myself and try to look like a sweet and innocent, but knowledgeable, boxer. I just look like Zoolander instead.

Jimmy examines my fist, slowly turning my hand over, then shrugs and lets go before continuing his previous line of questioning. I’m not sure how to react, so I let it slide (noticing a pattern yet?)

As we continue, I visibly perk up when the conversation turns to baseball. This is one of my ace-in-the-hole dating traits, because I love baseball and can actually discuss it intelligently. Jimmy, however, is yet to be convinced.

“Who’s your favorite player? Derek Jeter? I’m sorry, I just don’t trust women who say they’re sports fans until they prove it.”

“Nick Swisher.”

He pauses and seems to really focus in on me for the first time all evening and I know right then that something big is about to happen. He leans towards me, staring into my eyes. He’s either going to kiss me or…

The trivia questions start flying like a commentator at the Kentucky Derby and miraculously I keep up. I gulp down another beer from the sheer pressure of this challenge (I’m now tasked with defending the honor of every sports fan with boobs) and because it is a great way to stall for time as I think of my answer. Slightly buzzed and feeling a little bit cocky, Jimmy finally throws me one that catches me off guard.

“Uh… what?”

He knows he has me and smirks as he leans back. No matter how much I argue and question Jimmy remains resolute in his superiority, so finally I yawn and wave to the waiter for the check. He brandishes his corporate card and boasts, “ABC Association’s got this one.”


It’s so kind of him, really, but kids, Jimmy is not your father.