I'll confess: I'm an expensive AF date. The final product sitting in front of you, the girl you're passionately engaging in heated conversation with, didn't magically wake up with bright red lips, vampy nails, shiny black hair, winged eyeliner and shimmery wonderfulness perfectly glimmering at the tops of her cheekbones. No, it cost a lot of money to cultivate, baby. So, I happen to think it's only morally correct of you to take care of the bill on our date tonight. And the tip. I tipped my hairstylist, you tip the waiter.