This year my credit card company sent me a birthday card.
In simple red, white and blue it wished me a happy birthday from Credit One.
It is nice of my credit card to put the effort in to send a physical card when an email would have done it.
My mom sent a text.
My credit card puts the work in.
It knows how to rupture and repair.
It gives double miles at thousands of convenient locations all over the world.
My credit card is senpai
Uwu.
I’ll never have to ask for it to kiss me full on the mouth. Even if I just woke up and haven’t brushed my teeth.
Even when my Cpap face mask leaves welts down my cheeks like war paint.
I must be beautiful.
My credit card likes public displays of affection, but hates holding hands. It likes to be used out where
everyone can see. You can tap it, swipe it, or insert it.
Dirty.
I wonder if my credit card knows I sit up at night and think about it? I wonder if it’s upset with me, or if it is
judging what I did that day. Then it will text to check on me because of some suspicious activity.
It is good to me like that.
Sometimes when I am naughty it punishes me.
We even keep a special score.
My credit card took the time to send me a birthday card even though it is maxed out.
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