Dear Ken & Ariel: Here’s an age-old question: When a guy asks a woman out, who’s expected to pay? I went out with a guy last week and when the bill for dinner showed up, he asked me to fork over half. When I told him I didn’t have it, he gave me a nasty look, then got miffed later when I didn’t invite him in.

Ken Says: I’ll put this as simply as I possibly can:

If you’re a guy and you’re holding out any hope that the female who you’ve asked out for the evening will place her hand anywhere even remotely close to your schlong, you’re paying.

That is not to say that she’s expected to touch your wretched penis just because you bought her a burger and some onion rings; I’m just saying that if you asked her out, and you don’t pay, you have a better chance of ending up in one of Salvador Dali’s paintings than her pants by the end of the night.

Also, call me old fashioned, but what kind of a guy asks a girl to pony up for dinner then complains when she won’t sit on his face?

Assholes, that’s who. And some European students.

Ariel Says: I detect an ever-so-slight scent of eau de resentment wafting gently between your lines. As in, “Are you kidding me, fucker? You asked ME out, so you pony up the cash when the check comes and don’t just sit there fiddling with your Save Darfur rubber bracelet and looking at me expectantly!”

I’d say the rule of thumb is, whoever suggests the date coughs up the dough.

That means if you invite him to “The Ice Capades Presents: Moby Dick,” you pay.

When you’re the one who gets asked out, it’s nice to at least attempt the gesture of reaching for your purse. Offering to pay the tip is also very charming. Hopefully, he’ll dismiss you with a gallant wave of his hand as he proudly rips open his velcro SpongeBob wallet.

If he doesn’t, take heed, my friend.

And keep your jeans buttoned.

Dear Ken and Ariel: I’ve been dating a girl for three years now and think she’s the one. Only problem: Her mother, my future mother-in-law, is a horror show. A good 400 pounds, loud, obnoxious, malodorous. As bad as they come. What are the chances my girl’s gonna look like that in, say, thirty years? Thanks in advance.

Ken Says: Ah, the old adage, “If you want to know what your girl will look like in thirty years, look at her mother.” Guys have been using that measure for ages, but I’m not sure it’s all that reliable. I’ve seen plenty of knock-out women with mothers who look like they strolled off the set of Planet of the Apes and, conversely, a lot of MILFs with unattractive offspring. So I’d say it’s about a fifty-fifty chance.

"Nice tits."

But if your girl actually does morph from Mila Kunis to Yoda over the next three decades, you can take comfort in this: the change will be so gradual you really won’t even notice it. Oh, and while we’re on the subject, you may want to consider how kind the years will be to you, buddy.

After all, in thirty years, you may be lucky that anyone’s making a play for your johnson, let alone a woman who looks vaguely like your mother-in-law.

Ariel Says: Let’s face facts: we’re all destined for the old fart express. Whenever I see Kim Kardashian, my first thought is, “Does Yeezy know he’s dating Kris Jenner?”

But, as Ken pointed out, it goes both ways. Is YOUR pops Mr. Senior America 2013? (Okay, Google tells me there’s no such thing. But there IS a Ms. Senior America pageant! Must go call mum.)

Who truly, are we to judge? Don’t let the sins of the mother (and father) deter your love. Put a ring on it!

And just think of the advances in plastic surgery 30 years from now!

Need wildly impractical sex advice? From English majors? Send your questions to or visit If we answer yours, Ariel might just show up at your place with a bottle of cheap booze. And her lawyer.



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