At the quiet corner table of Café Étoile, Clara sipped her espresso and glared at the man across from her. Julian wore a smug smile and an even smugger tweed blazer.
“I suppose you haven’t read the real Tolstoy,” he said, swirling his cappuccino like it held ancient wisdom. “Most people just pretend.”
Clara narrowed her eyes. Julian was a literary snob of the highest order, and she was ten minutes away from regretting this blind date.
“Actually,” Clara replied, coolly placing her cup down, “I translated Tolstoy’s letters for a publishing house last year. Got full credit too.”
His smirk faltered. “You—translated?”
“Russian major. Fluent.” She leaned back. “But don’t worry, I also pretend.”
Julian coughed into his sleeve, clearly thrown off. He reached for his phone under the table, probably texting an escape plan.
Clara stood. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be sure to credit this evening as one of my shorter disasters.”
She left the café, her heels echoing on the sidewalk. Behind her, Julian sat frozen, mouth slightly agape.
Later, she posted the story online. The caption read: When a snob meets his match, he doesn’t clap back—he short circuits. The post got 8,000 likes. And full credit, of course.
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2025/07/11/credit/
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