A Polished First Impression
He arrived early, holding a small bouquet and wearing a crisp button-down. He opened doors, pulled out my chair, and complimented my dress without being smarmy. Even the gift he brought—a tasteful keychain with my initial—felt thoughtful rather than flashy.
Our conversation was easy. We talked travel and work, the shared comedy of terrible app experiences, and the loss of old-school movie theaters you could enjoy without taking out a small loan. When the check arrived, I reached for my wallet out of habit.
Eric waved me off. “I’ve got it,” he said, sliding his card to the waiter with a practiced flourish. Old-fashioned, perhaps, but generous. I didn’t argue.
Outside, he offered his arm, walked me to my car, and waited until my engine turned over before heading to his. No pushy invitations, no lingering awkwardness—just a clean, pleasant goodnight. Driving home, I texted Mia: You might be right about this one.
The Morning Curveball
The next morning, I opened my email expecting a warm, simple note—something like “Had a great time.” Instead, I found a message with the subject line: Invoice for Last Night.
At first, I thought it was a joke. Maybe a meme, a playful nod to the cost of dinner. But the attachment was styled like a corporate bill, complete with logo and itemized “charges.” Dinner, noted as “covered.”
Flowers, described as “in-kind” and allegedly payable by a hug. The keychain, “repayable” with a coffee date. And then, a final line implying that if I didn’t follow through, his friend Chris—who happens to be Mia’s long-term boyfriend—would “hear about it.”
This wasn’t humor. It was pressure, dressed up to look clever.
The charm from the night before suddenly felt rehearsed—a performance meant to justify a debt I never agreed to owe. Modern dating red flags don’t always announce themselves in neon. Sometimes they arrive in a tidy PDF.
Turning to a Trusted Friend
I forwarded the message to Mia with a short note: You have to see this.
Her response came back immediately: This is not normal. Do not reply.
Mia showed the email to Chris. To his credit, he was appalled and wanted to handle it. That afternoon, Eric received an email of his own—an “invoice” styled just as formally, but this time from “Karma & Co.” It came with a list of satirical charges for causing distress, public embarrassment, and general immaturity, and it ended with a pointed line about reputational consequences.
The effect was immediate. Eric alternated between irritation and self-pity. We were overreacting, he insisted. It was a misunderstanding. I “couldn’t take a joke.” Finally, he pivoted to bravado: I was “missing out on a great guy.”
I didn’t reply. There are times silence is the most eloquent response.
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