I dated this guy who never wanted to go out—he only wanted to stay at my place and watch movies. Ok, fine, but the meals we ate were almost always meals that I cooked, and any movie rental was paid for by me. If I suggested going out to eat, he would say, “We don’t need to spend money, let’s just cook something here.” What did he think, that the grocery fairy came to my house? Cooking “something here” meant I paid for the meal, cooked it and cleaned up after.
The man could eat like he had a hollow leg: He would down a huge bag of chips, or eat a whole package of Chips Ahoy cookies in one sitting. If he came over for dinner, he would hang around the next morning for hours and hours figuring I would eventually have to make some sort of breakfast. He never brought anything to my house, never contributed in any way. He was at my house three or four nights a week freeloading. And to make things worse, his favorite rant was on how all women are gold diggers. Pure. Class.