No Skin For A Skinflint
When I worked at a hospital as a medical assistant, there were a couple of doctors who wanted to take me out, but I usually rejected them for one simple reason: I never mixed work with pleasure.
“OK, fine,” I said, smiling.“Let’s meet first for coffee in Royal Oak, and we’ll go from there.” It happened to be Valentine’s Day, and we met at a cozy little coffee shop that I nicknamed Sweet Paradise because of the wonderful desserts.
When I arrived, Keith greeted me with a big bear hug and smile, and we took our place in line. We grabbed two cappuccinos, a slice of Black Forest cake and a piece of cheesecake.
On the way back to our table, he said, “Hey, Anna, would you pay for this? I drove here a long way just to see you and spent too much on gas.”
I said, “OK,” but my mind said, “Oh, my God, I hope he is joking.”
While we enjoyed sweets and coffee, and having a conversation,he happened to mention a second time about how much gas he spent just to drive to see me. I guess it was his way of expressing his fondness for me, even though I sprung for the food and drink.
Just when I thought we were going somewhere else to continue our date, he asked me if I could leave my car in Royal Oak to stay overnight in his house. He wanted me to be his “Valentine.”
I paid the bill, stood up and told him, “Listen Mr. Doctor, I have to go. Enjoy your Valentine’s Day.”
I left the place feeling off ended, hurt and angry. At that moment I could not wait to go back home and watch a “chick flick” movie — and simply to be left alone.