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I’m hard thinking about you in La Perla
Me
You’ve ruined me for all other underwear
A few minutes goes by, then:
Mr. D
I just checked my credit card
Me
Yeah?
Mr. D
We need to talk
Oh, shit. I did spend too much. I mean, he said there was no limit.
I silently start to have a mini-heart attack.
Think, Charlize. Talk your way out of it.
Me
I’m sorry. I can take some of the stuff back?
Mr. D
That’s not what I meant
Me
You’re confusing.
My heart races as I type.
Did I do something wrong?
Mr. D
Yes. We’ll talk about it when I get home. Be wearing the La Perla at the kitchen island and nothing else when I get in.
Holy smokes.
I can’t stop the heat rising in my cheeks that I’ve done a very, very bad thing, and now I can’t wait to get home and pretty myself up for him, hoping that it’ll soften the blow.
I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if I’d bought a Hermes bag instead of the scarf. Shame washes over me. I suck at this.
What was the point in giving me a card with no limit if you’re just going to rain on all my fun and make me feel like shit? By the time the car pulls into his driveway, I’m fuming. I contemplate whether to make the car turn around and go back to my place.
I want to confront him. I want to know what the hell he’s smoking if he thinks he can just punish me for a mediocre spending spree. Okay, I did spend a lot — at his insistence — but it’s not like I went and bought a three hundred thousand dollar watch or a new car for Christ sakes.
Alex helps me with the bags into the entryway and I thank him as he leaves.
I haul the stuff up to my room, making two trips with overstuffed arms full of bags and boxes. Okay, maybe I did go overboard. But now I have to win him back into my good graces.
