This, That, and the Other

I am unofficially participating in this year’s A to Z Challenge. My theme this year is girlfriends.

A note about today’s post. Back in the early days of this blog, in August 2017, I wrote a post titled “Dollars and Degrees.” I labeled it as flash fiction, but the post was a recounting of an actual conversation I had with a girl I was going out with at the time whose name was Debbie. The only change I’ve made in what follows is to shift from third person to first person, since I’m now confessing that it wasn’t really a work of fiction as much as a recollection.

D is for Debbie S.

“Dollars and degrees. That’s all you care about, you self-centered bastard,” she said before turning away from me and taking a large sip from her martini glass.

I took a swig of my beer. We were sitting next to one another at the bar of the Tomfoolery, a popular pub in the Foggy Bottom section of D.C. “It’s Wednesday night, Deb. You know I have that urban planning paper due for tomorrow night’s class. I really need to head back to my place to finish it up.”

“You’ll use any excuse to get up and leave me here by myself,” Debbie slurred. “I swear, you don’t give two shits about me. All you care about are dollars and degrees.”

I liked Debbie. She was attractive, reasonably bright, and quite accomplished in the sack. But I was working on my master’s degree at night while holding down a full-time job during the day. I was barely half way through my 54 credit-hour curriculum, and completing my master’s program by the end of the following year was my highest priority.

“I think you’re a little drunk, Deb,” I responded, finishing up my beer.

“And I think you’re a selfish prick,” she snapped back.

I turned toward her and, affecting my most sincere, genuine manner, I said, “I really do care about you, Debbie. I enjoy our time together. A lot, actually. But I have to finish this paper tonight. I’ll probably be up quite late and I have to be at work again by 8:30 in the morning. So even though I’d much rather stay here with you a little while longer and then head over to your place and spend the night, I’ve got to go.”

It was only a little white lie, I told myself.

Debbie moved her bar stool closer to mine, snuggled up next to me, and while running her hand up and down my inner thigh, whispered in a low, throaty voice, “I’d rather we head over to my place, too. We can both call in sick for work tomorrow.”

“I can’t,” I said, removing her hand from high up on my thigh. “I’m sorry, Deb, but I just can’t. Not tonight. I need to get this paper done.”

I stood up and retrieved my jacket and backpack from the hook beneath the bar. I leaned over toward Debbie and kissed her on her cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said, and headed for the door.

As I was leaving the pub I heard her yell after me. “Dollars and degrees, you fucker! That’s all that’s important to you. Dollars and degrees.”

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