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Eating Sephora

Steven comes in this morning, hands me his credit card, and says, "Go shopping online. Anything you want." He promptly leaves back out of my office. I didn'y even get a chance to speak.  I was left sitting there with his card in my hand and a wicked smirk slowly appeared on my face. 

SEPHORA! SEPHORA! I screamed in my head.

As if I needed more girl shit, but again: SEPHORA! SEPHORA! So I ate Sephora. I won't tell you all how much I spent, because I don't want to hear the number again. He loved it. Is that some type of fetish for some men?

Next week the goodies arrive.

So he handed me plastic instead of cash; what's the difference, you're probably asking? Plastic is more personal: I saw his credit card number, his personal information. It's a deeper gesture. 

Or at least I'll be telling myself that when I'm spritzing on the very sexual Gucci Rush.
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