Saturday night, I popped into Corner Bakery.  The Wife and I were running errands.  She was thirsty, so I ran into the store to get her an iced tea.  She really likes Corner Bakery’s black currant iced tea, you see.

“I need an iced tea, please.” I ordered from the lady at the counter.

“Anything else?” She asked.

“No, ma’am.  Just the iced tea.”

She snatched up a cup and handed it to me with a bright smile, “It’s on me tonight.”

“Really?”  I looked at the cup, “Wow.  Thanks!”

Her expression was warm, suggesting that she’s a person who just likes to help people.

“Um,” I asked, pausing on my way to fill the cup, “This doesn’t mean we’re dating, does it?”

She looked up, face flashing red with embarrassment.

“I’m really not looking for anything serious right now,” I explained, then added, “Just because you bought me an iced tea doesn’t mean you own me!”

And then she gave me the look, the look I’ve seen on any number of other people’s faces.  It’s the why-did-I-do-anything-nice-for-this-man look.

Returning to the car, I provided the beverage to The Wife.

“Thanks for getting me a drink,” She sipped, “Black Currant!”

“You’re welcome,” I said, feeling the warm satisfaction of having done something nice for someone.

I’m a giver.  I give.  It’s what I do.