In the Midult ages we ask ourselves many things: Why am I holding this spoon? Who is this person in the mirror? Who am I calling? Who raped Trish Winterman? Can I go out two nights in a row (NO)? Who is going to work out the Brexit bill?
So there’s that bill. And then there are all the other bills. Oh God, the bills. But what about the bill?
Are we too old to split the bill? Is it a bit undignified? Out to dinner the other night and, at bill time, everyone starts doing Stephen Hawking type formulas on napkins to remove booze from what some people owe, puddings from what other people owe, starters, sides and so on so painful forth. Everyone is handing out cards or chucking notes (“Can you break a twenty?” Like that scene in A Room With A View with Maggie Smith and the change for the cab driver). Some unfortunate soul is collecting the cash (the designated bill worker-outer), the waiter is waving the only machine currently working in the restaurant. Someone’s left without paying so do we split that between us or does someone cover it and then invoice? Oh, hold on you’ve forgotten service. *scribbles all over napkin again*
Wouldn’t it be nice if someone just said, “I’ll do it” and then next time you could do it. But who can drop £300 on a Tuesday evening? And anyway is there any guarantee that we’ll all be able to coordinate another dinner what with all the diaries being so tyrannical? And who would remember who had paid? Because you know, the spoon thing. The answer must surely be, just split the stupid thing equally no matter – within reason – who’s eaten and drunk what. We sat round the same table, we shared the same conversation, we’ll split the bill. The maths just ruins everything. As usual.