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Confession

I am a self-confessed shopaholic.

Savings are a myth.

My wardrobe has a particular colour spectrum – close to 80% is black.

Black is slimming.

I own shoes – many for that fact.

Upwards of fifty pairs, with no intention of stopping.

Still, I never know what to wear.

So I shop some more.

The cycle is endless and my bank account is poor, but the fucks I give is nearer to zero than any other number.

Shopping makes me happy, crazy happy.

Deliveries are like Christmas.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with it – says me.

Mind you, I refuse to get a credit card because I know it will only end badly – that makes me somewhat wise.

I do not hesitate in purchasing a $150.00 top.

I don’t buy extravagant things, I buy simple and classic pieces.

I’ll pay money for good quality.

Nothing will stop me – except my bank account.

But there you go, confessions of a shopaholic.

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