Don't be afraid of calling the guy: ; Splitting the bill might be right, but may hurt feelings

DEAR CAROLYN: I was at a local drinking establishment enjoyingthe company of a newly acquainted friend of a friend (FOF). We werehaving a great time and also a few drinks, which helps with myHUUUGE fear of strangers. Eventually, he headed off to the littleboys' room. In the two seconds he was gone, in walks anotheracquaintance (guy), who cozies up for a chat. FOF returns and looksless than amused.

Since I am new to this "talk to boys in bars" thing, I had noidea how to play it. I think I botched it, because shortlythereafter FOF went home - no exchange of cards/numbers/nuthin.

What now? I don't want to look like a floozie by calling FOF orlike a teenager by having the mutual friend intercede on my behalf.

Hopeless!

What's the copyright on your dating playbook, 1959?

If you call a man, all you'll "look like" is someone who knowshow to use a phone. It's what you say that matters. Likewise,mistakes are our birthright; it's how you face them that matters. Socall him. Say, "I didn't handle things well last night. May I buyyou dinner to celebrate my fatheadedness?" He'll find that disarmingor he won't, but a good guy will notice you tried.

Another thing that matters is your HUUUGE alcohol crutch. Watchthis. It's a short walk from loosening up to screwing up-and 12 hardsteps back.

Dear Carolyn:

Here's the deal: A group of friends goes to dinner. Most peopleorder expensive meals and alcohol, while some of us order a Coke anda moderately priced meal. Yet, when the bill comes, one of the folkswho ordered all the expensive stuff grabs it, divides it evenly andannounces that each person owes $X.

I went with the flow the first time; the second time, I said,"Guys, I only owe $20, so that's what I'm putting toward the bill."If looks could've killed, I wouldn't be writing to you now. Thethird time, one of them said under her breath, "Here she goesagain."

I don't see that I did anything wrong. I've got the dough;however, it's the principle. What's your take?

Frustrated

That you're absolutely right, and that being absolutely right canlose its charm quickly if it has a righteous, crusadey smell.

When you threw in your share, period, you drew a line in thetablecloth and put up your dukes. But aren't these people yourfriends? The bill-splitting was unfair, but so was your assumptionthat it was done with selfish intent.

In a big party like yours, people have no clue what anyone elseis ordering, and unless there's a high grad-student/nonprofit-employee presence, even splits are common. In fact, the light eatersare often the only ones alert to check inequity.

So, what now? In a fictional world that allows social do-overs,you go back and protest nicely. Humorously. As if you're all friendshere? "Nice try, Orson, but I had chicken and a Coke." You don'tgive them the repeat-offenders treatment on your first complaint.

In this world, you lighten up. Still, right trumps rude no matterhow abruptly you execute it. The big spenders know the deal now; iftheir solution is to continue spending your money but with an addedhostility charge, then you might want to order new friends.

Dear Carolyn:

OK so, I'm eating dinner at a nice Thai restaurant with friends.At another table is a woman (with her female friend) who is almostexactly the woman I picture when I write poetry. I think she islooking my way, too. The place was small, so everybody notices ifyou make a fool out of yourself. She left before we did, andafterwards I ditched my friends and walked around to see if I"bumped" into her, to no avail. I have not stopped thinking, "Whatif?"

I guess my question is, can you suggest how to approach a randomstranger in a smallish restaurant without coming off like a boob?

Aimlessly and

Hopelessly Romantic

And you call yourself a poet - you should have been all overthis.

There are as many ways to woo as there are women, but the bestways are a natural extension of your strengths (word-friendliness,melodrama) and weaknesses (your squidly reluctance to dash out afterher to introduce yourself). A you-esque one springs to mind: Picturethe scene in grainy black-and-white. You look. She looks. She hascilantro on her chin.

Sorry.

She leaves, you follow her out, "Excuse me ..." You hand her acocktail napkin on which you've scribbled ... you've scribbled ...oh oh: haiku. Last line, "Sorry for staring." Yeah. And your numberor e-mail address.

Even if you don't scare her there's a large chance she'll neverrespond, but imagine your aw-shucks poet-meets-muse moment if shedoes. Best part either way? Look Ma - no what-ifs.

Write to "Tell Me About It," c/o The Washington Post, Style Plus,1150 15th St., NW, Washington, D.C. 20071 or e-mail:tellme@washpost.com. Chat online with Carolyn each Friday at noonand Monday at 3 p.m., both Eastern time, at www.washingtonpost.com.