My Date with a Plastic Surgeon Ended in Tears – Then Karma Stepped In

It’s been a few months since my last breakup, and let me tell you, it was brutal. I spent too many nights on the couch, binge-watching sappy movies and drowning my sorrows in tubs of ice cream.

But, slowly, I’ve been picking up the pieces of my broken heart, trying to find the strength to move forward.

Tonight, I’m sitting in my cozy apartment, a sanctuary filled with warm lighting and comforting decor. My best friend, Jenna, is here, as always, trying to coax me out of my shell.

“Nina,” Jenna begins, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “I have the perfect guy for you. His name is Michael. He’s a plastic surgeon.”

I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “A plastic surgeon? That sounds… interesting.”

“Oh, don’t sound so doubtful!” Jenna chides. “It’s just a little date, and if, for some reason, you don’t like him, then you never have to see him again.”

I sighed. Jenna has been my rock through this break-up. I’ve spilled my heart out to her on this sofa over tubs of ice cream and caramel lattes so often over the past weeks, I lost track. She thinks I’m ready to return to the dating scene, but me?

“I don’t think I’m ready for this,” I confess.

Jenna waves her hand dismissively. “Trust me, he’s really nice. You deserve to have some fun and meet new people.”

I sigh, feeling the familiar tug of doubt. But Jenna’s enthusiasm is infectious, and deep down, I know she’s right. I can’t hide forever.

“Okay,” I say finally. “I’ll go on the date… but only if you swear that he’s not a pig.”

Jenna raises her hand like she’s taking an oath. “I solemnly swear he isn’t a pig, okay? Now, give me a few minutes to text him and get you set up for a date, girlfriend!”

The night of the date arrives, and I’m a bundle of nerves. I stand outside the upscale restaurant, trying to steady my breath. The place is elegant and sophisticated, a far cry from my usual haunts.

I step inside, scanning the room until I spot Michael.

He’s polished and confident, exactly as Jenna described. I muster a smile and walk over, my heels clicking on the marble floor.

“Hi, Michael?” I say, my voice wavering slightly.

“Nina,” he greets me with a charming smile and scans me from head to toe. “It’s great to meet you.”

We exchange pleasantries, and I start to relax, sipping my glass of wine. The conversation flows easily at first, and I begin to think this might not be so bad after all.

“So, Nina,” Michael leans in, “what are your plans for the future?”

I smile, feeling a bit more at ease. “I’m looking to advance in my career… I’ll be up for a promotion next year and I really want to get it. I’d also like to travel a bit. How about you?”

“Well,” he says, adjusting his tie, “I’m focused on my practice. Speaking of which, are you planning on doing anything with this nose of yours?” He leans in and narrows his eyes. “I offer a great discount for friends.”

I freeze, my smile faltering. Did he just insult me?

Michael continues, oblivious to my discomfort. “It would be nothing for me to shave a bit off the tip there, and it would do wonders for your look.”

“Shave off the tip?” I instinctively raise my hands to cover my nose.

“To reduce the size… your nose is around ten percent bigger than it should be to fit your face.” he tilts his head as he continues his scrutiny. “You could use some Botox and fillers, too. And if you fix your double-chin, we could go on a second and a third date.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment and anger. This isn’t just a date gone wrong—it’s a nightmare.

The restaurant suddenly feels claustrophobic, the elegant decor turning oppressive.

Michael continues, his voice a dull drone in the background as I mentally replay his insults. “You really should consider it. I mean, you’re not getting any younger, and a little work could do wonders. I could help slim down those hips, too.”

I can’t believe this is happening.

Memories of my ex-boyfriend’s criticisms flood my mind—how he used to nag me about my weight, my clothes, even how I did my makeup.

My self-confidence sinks like a lead weight, and I feel the sting of tears threatening to spill.

Just then, the waiter approaches with our main course. He sets the plates down with a polite smile but quickly assesses the tension at our table. His nametag reads “Jack,” and there’s a warmth in his eyes that catches me off guard.

Jack lingers by the table, pretending to adjust the placement of the dishes, but it’s clear he’s listening as Michael goes on about liposuction, tummy tucks, and nose jobs.

As if it wasn’t bad enough to listen to this without an audience! Just as I was starting to scan the room for the nearest exit, the waiter cut into Michael’s monologue with a polite clearing of his throat.

“Excuse me, miss,” he says, turning to me, “are you by any chance a model?”

I blink, taken aback. “No, I’m not.”

Jack continues, undeterred. “My sister is a photographer looking for models like you. Can I have your number for her?”

I stared at him as my brain struggled to catch up with the unexpected turn this evening had taken. Before I could cobble together a reply, Michael scoffed loudly.

“I have plenty of clients who are far more suitable for modeling,” he chimed in. “You should give me your card—”

“No, thanks.” Jack barely glances at him. “We prefer real women, not half-starved, plastic dolls.” He turns back to me with a reassuring smile. “You’d be perfect.”

I can’t help but smile, a small but genuine one.

Michael’s face turns red with anger and embarrassment.

“I’ll take the bill,” he snaps, clearly wanting to escape. “I have an early surgery appointment tomorrow.”

Jack nods and walks away, leaving Michael to fume in silence. As soon as Michael settles the bill, he stands up abruptly.

“This was… enlightening,” he says curtly before turning on his heel and leaving.

I let out a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The restaurant feels quieter now, more intimate, as I look around and see Jack returning.

“You okay?” he asks, concern etched on his face.

“Yeah,” I say, feeling a mix of relief and curiosity. “Thanks for that. I don’t think I could have handled another minute with him.”

Jack shrugs modestly. “Anytime. I couldn’t let that jerk ruin your night.”

I glance around the now quieter restaurant. “So, you don’t have a photographer sister, do you?”

Jack smirks, shaking his head. “No, I don’t. But I couldn’t stand by and let him talk to you like that.”

“Well, thank you,” I say, genuinely touched by his kindness. “It means a lot.”

We talk for a while longer, and I find myself relaxing in his presence. Jack is funny, intelligent, and incredibly sweet. As we chat, I start to think this night might not be a complete waste after all.

But then he has to return to his job, and I watch him move to another table, charming a group of women with the same ease.

A pang of doubt hits me.

Was he just being nice? Did he really mean what he said, or was he just taking pity on me? The chemistry I felt between us suddenly seems less real. I stand to leave, feeling a little lost.

As I step outside into the cool night air, I hear a voice behind me. “Wait, Nina.”

I turn to see Jack hurrying over.

“Hey, thanks for waiting. I… I’m sorry for being so forward, but I like you.” He hands me a small piece of paper. “Here’s my number. If you want to go on a date with someone who’s not a total jerk, give me a call.”

I take the paper, feeling a spark of hope. Maybe tonight wasn’t a complete disaster after all.

“I might just do that,” I say, smiling genuinely for the first time in weeks.

He grins at me as he backs away. “I really hope you do.”

The soft glow of the streetlights casts a warm light on the pavement as I walk away, the piece of paper clutched in my hand.

Maybe this is the beginning of something new, something better. And for the first time in a long time, I feel ready to embrace it.

Click here to read Sarah’s story about how her wedding preparations grind to a halt when her SIL sees her best friend’s name on the guest list and panics. It turns out her best friend has been hiding a huge secret, which threatens to destroy Sarah’s future.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.