“Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask. Sibu and Adolph have been not backward in suggesting individuals at the hospital that they believe would be suitable for me, a lippiness at odds with their insistence on calling me “Doctor” all the time. I therefore feel I have carte blanche to ask similarly invasive questions.
They both look rueful. “The thing is, doctor, that the girls at university, they want a man with money.”
“What do you mean?”
“They want someone who can take them out to dinner. And not just once on the first date. They want someone who will take them out all the time. Someone who will buy them fancy things.”
“But surely someone who really likes you does not worry about that kind of thing?”
“You would think so – but they all compete for what their boyfriends get them.”
“So no girlfriends this year?”
“Not until the first pay cheque.”
They both look rueful. “The thing is, doctor, that the girls at university, they want a man with money.”
“What do you mean?”
“They want someone who can take them out to dinner. And not just once on the first date. They want someone who will take them out all the time. Someone who will buy them fancy things.”
“But surely someone who really likes you does not worry about that kind of thing?”
“You would think so – but they all compete for what their boyfriends get them.”
“So no girlfriends this year?”
“Not until the first pay cheque.”
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