During this process, he told me how delicate and perfect my skin was (it's really not) like someone wanting to wear it as a hat. Meanwhile the cream begins to burn my skin like hydrochloric acid. He creepily assured me that my first time was the worst, and that it's the eye cream he himself uses, ignoring my pain. After insisting that my face is burning off, he attempts to sooth my sizzling under eye area with cool cotton balls, but then began slathering my inner arms with a slew of creams and scrubs quoting me hundreds upon hundreds of dollars. At this point, I'm feeling extremely anxious and stressed about the situation, feeling like a frightened animal backed into a corner. Finally, I made some sorry excuse and run out of the shop as if I stole something, dragging my poor, patient husband as far from the shop as physically possible.
I never did get to look at perfume.
We rushed on to get dinner at "Wicked Spoon", Cosmopolitan's highly-acclaimed buffet restaurant. But that will have to wait until the next installment of my Las Vegas adventures.
Until next time, stay Chefy!