Even self-proclaimed feminists feel this way. One woman I know — a ballsy, badass single mom and high-powered career woman who still manages to look hot at all times — once recommended I read The Rules, or what I like to call Ye Olde Book Of Anti-Feminist Dating Tips. She felt that its advice, which basically pushes gender stereotypes around dating to extremes, would help me find guys who would treat me better. One of “The Rules” is that a woman must never, ever initiate contact with a man, for any reason, ever ever ever, because, you know, THE CHASE! If you do take the lead and ask a guy out, or offer to pick up the tab, it means you’re desperate. Best to keep them guessing about whether or not you’re even interested — by remaining shrouded in mystery. This way of operating is totally not for me.

I’ve never felt comfortable with traditional gender roles, even when it seemed like I was benefitting from them. For example, those guys who smugly pay every bill? I dated one for a year and a half — we’ll call him Billy. Billy wined and dined me from the very first date with expensive meals and thoughtfully planned romantic outings. I had only dated broke artists in the past, so this kind of treatment was new for me. I assumed him shelling out all this dough was a sign that he really loved me, but in the end, it was just an over-compensation for a basic insecurity he had about not being “manly” enough. Billy was scared to seem weak, so he paid every bill in order to seem strong. He also used it as leverage when he started neglecting our relationship. He was covering the majority of the expenses, so I had no right to complain when our romantic relationship started to wane. I felt like a piece of property he was paying to maintain, as long as I kept quiet about my pesky feelings.

As for my other judgement calls: The “cowards” — who would wait to see what moves I would make when the bill came — were often just well-intentioned dudes who had been chastised by feminists for holding doors open and didn’t want to insult me by assuming I even wanted them to pay the bill. And, hilariously, this behaviour of waiting to see what the other person would do when the bill came...was exactly what I had been doing! Oh, the irony.

And the third guy? The so-called jerk? He was the only one who was being honest and fair about things, who saw no reason why he should have to pay for everything just because he had a penis and I had a vagina — because, hello, equality! Turns out, I was the one who was being a jerk.