My Luxury Life, Her Sticky Fingers

Synopsis

My brother's wife, Nancy Miller, plays the "clueless cutie" card on repeat. She swore she couldn't tell Dior from a grocery sack. She hauled produce in my limited-edition bag, bathed her whole body in my La Mer, and massaged my serum into her crusty heels. I stormed in to confront her. Nancy's eyes welled up, lip trembling. She whimpered, "I'm so sorry, Laila. I'm just too dumb to know all those fancy names." My brother, Peter Garcia, immediately jumped in to defend her, looking all protective. He shot back, "Who are you to blame Nancy? Maybe blame yourself for blowing cash on overpriced junk." I didn't waste breath arguing; I went online and ordered a "La Mer" cream for a few bucks with free shipping.