Everyone knows I love first dates. Hopes are high, the conversation is flowing because you’re both getting to know each other, and you’ve got that “I like this girl enough to spend money on her” skip in your step. It’s an unparalleled and innocent excitement that I haven’t gotten since middle school when I would realize it was Chicken Nuggets & Mashed Potatoes Day.
While I take issue with people that don’t think through their restaurant orders, I do think it’s only fair that I’m forthright with my first date drink order for the sake of transparency. If we’re eating alfresco mid-summer, I’m ordering a seasonal beer to show that I’m embracing the weather around us. You know, like an Oberon or something. If we’re hunkered down in a bistro in the thick of winter, you’ll find me ordering a whiskey-based cocktail or mid-range glass of red (or a “$$ Red” based on the Google rating system). I’m not trying to reinvent the wheel here. I’m just trying not to get too bloated before we get the check.
If you’re my date, you can be my guest and try to find something wrong with those drink orders because, well, you honestly can’t. After all, I’m going to be the one paying for ’em. Yours on the other hand? Yours are up for discussion.
“How’s your house white?”
You might as well say, “I’m not listening to a fucking thing you’re saying because I probably know very little about wine.” The waitress could slip the phrase “horse pee” in her explanation and it would probably slip by because you’re thinking, “Has she said ‘dry’ yet? I think I like ‘dry’ whites. That means it’s sweet, right? Fuck, I wasn’t even listening.”
It’s all going to culminate with, “Sounds great, I’ll do that!” so don’t even bother with the charade. I’m the type of guy who tosses his Sauvy B in a pint glass with ice, so I’m clearly not here to judge.
“Macallan 18, neat.”
Let’s be clear about something: you’re not impressing me with your respect for nice scotch. I’m not Ron fucking Swanson. I’m a 28-year old dude with a mid-range salary and burdening student loan debt. Do I wish I could be drinking a scotch that’s almost the same age as the girl I’m taking out to dinner? Yeah, but first I have to bide my time before I can just be superfluously dropping twenties on your single pours.
“Do you have any drink specials?”
We both know I’m buying so why are you nickel-and-diming our waitress? I’m completely willing to fund this venture so let’s not hassle this nice girl who’s going to get a fat tip from me regardless just so I look baller in front of you.
Whether you’re ordering from the happy hour menu or the limited time craft cocktail menu, it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve already got a number in my head for how much I’m spending on this date, and honestly, if we surpass it I’m not going to complain. It is what it is.
“I’m feeling like a margarita.”
A great man once said, “If liking Katy Perry and drinking margaritas is gay, then who wants to be straight?” That man was James Franco in The Interview. Another great man once said, “Tequila is like my cocaine.” That great man was my friend, Tube Socks.
If you and I are going tequila, then it’s safe to assume we’ll be getting off on the right foot because we’ll probably be hammered and super agreeable. Me? I like mine on the rocks with a salted rim and a Patron floater. Don’t hate me ’cause I’m tropical.
“I’ll do a split bottle of the Veuve.”
Aaaaaand I’m not going to be able to afford you outside of a couple dates that will eventually end because your dad doesn’t approve of my non-finance job. Yeah, I have roman numerals after my name and stuff, but champagne on a first date is an aggressively bougie move even for me. I probably don’t know all that much about you at this point, but fuck it, I’ll play this Talented Mr. Ripley game with you for a while.
Maybe next time we can just do a pitcher of color-the-water-with-OJ mimosas so I can tap into the champagne campaign as well. A little solidarity and shared experience never hurt anyone.
“PBR me, ASAP.”
Ways to immediately lose my respect on a first date:
- • Try sleeping with me.
• Show up late.
• Relentlessly swear.
• Order a PBR.
And any girl that orders a PBR on a first date probably falls into all of those categories.
Also known as the “I’m actually not hungry, I just ate” of the dinner drink orders. I mean, I hope you can appreciate my candor here, but I’ll get on the vodka soda train if she wants to get on the vodka soda train. I’ll also change my dinner order to an appetizer order and we can move onto the next bar where our night will probably end with us making out in an alley slurring, “This was fun, we should do this again” only to stop talking to each other a week later because our blossoming relationship holds no substance.
“Do you just want to split this bottle of rosé?”
Sure. But also, what do you want to name our kids?.
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