In our text exchange, she asked me if I like chocolate. I love chocolate! And after she got back down from stage -- we saw each other, we got to do table dances, then she had to go onstage, but then we did more table dances once she was done with her set -- she gave me Ghirardelli chocolates that she bought. Did she buy them for me? Maybe, maybe not. But I don't care -- she thought of me enough to buy me chocolates for Valentine's Day!
I don't think I blog posted about this: When I saw her last, about a month ago, she surprised me with cookies she apparently baked from home. I was freaking the fuck out about this siege this fuckin' Republican government put on us, but I really wanted to see her now that my parents have gone. She was trying to calm me down, and so I think she thought the way she could do that is to feed me. And trust me, the cookies were delicious. The flour she used was so fluffy, yet so buttery. I ate them up at work.
I have a new appreciation for her. It may not be a grand gesture, but making and buying food for a customer is a signal that she's feeding me, that she's looking out for me, and that, dare I say it, she cares about me. I ... love that she did that for me.
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