She Got The Birkin I Got His Company

Summary

My tenth-anniversary gift from my husband was a tube of Chanel hand cream.

Our son, in a fit of mischief, scrambled onto my vanity while I wasn’t looking. He squeezed it with all his might, and the expensive cream pooled on the floor like a tragic, pearlescent tear.

It was the thought that counted, I told myself. So that same day, I drove to the nearest Nordstrom to buy a replacement.

The saleswoman gave me a pitying once-over, her eyes scanning my practical jeans and worn-out flats. She shook her head.

“Ma’am, we don’t sell this hand cream individually.”