When my brother Marcus insisted he knew the perfect guy for me, I braced myself. His last setup had been a spoon collector who wore socks with sandals. Still, Marcus kept pushing, describing Andy as polite, smart, and mysteriously single. Tired of the questions about my love life, I agreed to one date just to prove I was open to meeting someone.

Andy surprised me. He arrived with wildflowers, opened every door, and kept a genuine conversation going through dinner. He seemed attentive and kind. For the first time in a long while I felt seen and respected. When he offered to drive me home I hesitated—first-date rules usually meant taking an Uber—but his sincerity made me give in. He dropped me off like a gentleman, waited until I was inside, and waved from the car. I went to bed thinking I might have found one of the good ones.

The illusion ended the next morning at 7:13 a.m. when a PayPal request arrived from Andy for $37.25. The itemized list included gas, car depreciation, parking, and a cleaning fee for puddle splash marks. I stared at the screen in disbelief, then laughed and sent him fifty dollars with a note that read “$13 tip for opening the door. Cheers.” After that I blocked him.

Marcus was both horrified and amused. Andy had bragged to his pickleball group about their “rom-com” date until Marcus shared the screenshots. The group voted him out. Weeks later I saw a viral TikTok from another woman who had dated Andy and received the same kind of bill. I remain grateful. It was the worst date I ever had—and still the best story of my life.