I’ve known my friend Denisa since our university days. She has always been outgoing, fun, and loved going to parties, bars, and gallery openings. At first glance, she comes across as an elegant and well-groomed woman who takes pride in her appearance. But over the years, I’ve noticed one incredibly annoying and embarrassing habit of hers that has gradually turned into outright freeloading at my expense. Denisa loves to look flawless, but she refuses to spend her own money on quality cosmetics and care products if she has someone nearby she can conveniently mooch off.
I myself am quite particular about quality cosmetics. I have very sensitive skin, so I only buy pharmacy-grade mineral powder, high-quality hypoallergenic mascaras, and my big weakness is original French perfumes from niche perfumeries, which cost a pretty penny. My favorite perfume bottle costs me over a hundred euros, and I carry it in my small purse so I can freshen up during a long evening out.
The problem started when Denisa and I began going out together more often in the evenings. Whenever we arrived at a restaurant or music club, after the first hour Denisa would get up with a conspiratorial smile and say, “Come on, let’s go freshen up in the ladies’ room.” As soon as we stepped into the restroom and I set my leather purse on the marble countertop, Denisa would sidle up to it without a moment’s hesitation. Instead of pulling out her own lip gloss from her tiny clutch, she’d open my makeup bag as if it were a self-service counter.
With complete nonchalance, she’d grab my expensive mineral powder, apply a thick layer to her face, use my premium mascara on her lashes, and finally reach for my French perfume. She’d spray at least five generous spritzes on her neck, wrists, and even in her hair, so half of my pricey fragrance was gone in seconds. When I looked at her in surprise, she just laughed at her reflection and tossed off her usual line: “Well, I didn’t feel like lugging a big purse tonight—I wanted my hands free for dancing—so I knew you’d save me!”
At first, I took it as an occasional friendly favor. But this started happening with clockwork regularity every single time we met. Denisa would deliberately go out with just her phone and bank card in her jeans pocket, and she began treating my purse as her personal, free cosmetic studio. My powder would disappear before my eyes, my clean brushes would get smeared with her makeup, and the level of perfume in my bottle dropped alarmingly fast. When I calculated how much money I was losing to her freeloading, I decided it was time to put a stop to it.
The turning point came last Friday at a mutual friend’s birthday party in a fancy cocktail bar. Before leaving home, I left all my expensive cosmetics in the bathroom and only put tissues and a plain lip balm in my purse. Around ten o’clock, Denisa came up with her usual suggestion: “Let’s go to the restroom, I need to powder up and put on some perfume—I’m all shiny already.”
I went with her. In the restroom, Denisa immediately reached for my purse, unzipped it, and started rummaging through it. When she found only an empty pouch and a dry lip balm, she stood there with her mouth open, staring at me in disbelief. “Where’s your powder and that perfume? How am I supposed to fix myself up now?” she snapped at me, as if I’d done something wrong.
I stayed calm, looked her straight in the eye, and said matter-of-factly: “My cosmetics stayed at home, Denisa. I realized you’ve been using me as your free drugstore for half a year now. My perfume costs over a hundred euros, and my makeup brushes are personal hygiene items—they’re not for sharing. If you want to touch up, bring your own stuff.”
Denisa turned bright red with anger, slammed the stall door, and didn’t say a word to me for the rest of the evening. At the table, she acted offended and told our other friends how petty I was and how I was making a scene over a little powder. But I didn’t care at all. Her sulky reaction only confirmed to me that this was never a friendly favor—it was blatant, inconsiderate exploitation. Now, when I go out, I know my things are for me alone, and Denisa has finally started bringing her own purse.
