When my friend Mia tried setting me up with her boyfriend’s friend, I hesitated. Blind dates rarely end well. But she promised he was “a true gentleman.”
His name was Eric, and from the start he seemed refreshingly normal—good conversations, full sentences, actual effort. After a week of chatting, he asked me to dinner.
He showed up early with roses, dressed nicely, and even brought a small engraved keychain. Dinner was easy and fun; he paid the bill, insisting, “A man pays on the first date.” Old-fashioned, but fine. I left thinking it might actually go somewhere.
The next morning, I woke up to an email titled Invoice for Last Night.
It looked official—logo, line items, everything:
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Dinner: $120 — “Paid in advance”
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Roses: “Repayable through physical affection”
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Keychain: “Gift requiring reciprocation”
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Effort: “Repay by holding hands on date #2”
At the bottom: Failure to comply may result in Chris hearing about it. (Chris—Mia’s boyfriend.)
I sent it to Mia. She freaked out and had Chris respond with a “counter-invoice” full of fake charges like Public creep penalty and Out-of-your-league surcharge.
Eric blew up my phone claiming it was “just a joke.” I blocked him.
Looking back, I’m grateful he showed his true self so fast. That invoice said it all—he didn’t view kindness as generosity, but as a transaction.
Now, when people ask about my worst date ever, I just say:
“I got an invoice after one dinner.”
