She's Gotta Have It

News item: I think I may be developing an addictive personality. In that, I'm seemingly becoming addicted to stuff, not that people just can't get enough of my anecdotes. A plethora of evidence is mounting up to support this hypothesis. Shrugging off the obvious temptations of alcohol and powdery substances (unless blusher), I have a different devil at my back entirely. I make my case forthwith:

Exhibit A) Alfie. Enough said.

Exhibit B) I cannot stop shopping. Shopping makes everything better. It is the joy in my life, the marrow in my bones, the giant gaping weakness in my budget. It's starting to get repugnant. I'm throwing money away that could go towards much more valuable ends. I talk of moving out, buying cars, earning enough to support both myself and a poor defenceless animal, and then blow hundreds of pounds on tops. Hundreds of pounds. It starts off innocently enough, with a couple of t shirts for maybe a tenner each or so, which I tell myself I need for work, and then, before I know it, I'm lusting after a dress on Asos for £54 that Peaches Geldof has. But I don't just want the dress, I throw things in my basket until it's over two hundred pounds worth, then I guiltily delete things I can live without so it's around a more respectable looking £100. Then I don't buy it, until encouraged to do so by my very irresponsible friends, sister, niece, boyfriend, and mum. Then I can blame it on peer pressure. Not satisfied with frittering away cash on clothes for myself, I have now firmly resolved that the minute - the very minute - I get a dog, I am buying it this.

Today, I theoretically spent £33.00 at Pucci (I didn't click on check out.) Before the guilt made me remove items from my basket, it was £103.50.

My name is Chica, and I'm an Alfashopaholic.