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Call it… commitment.

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Call it… commitment.

Okay, I admit it. I am a shopping addict. I think the lowest point I ever hit was when I stood at the counter in Topshop, my hand shaking ever so slightly as I found out I had been rejected a storecard. Shit, I thought. This is a new all-time-low.

I’ve always been an addict - from the moment I got my first part time job at fifteen, I would spend every last penny I owned on beautiful clothes. I’d hang them in my wardrobe and stand in awe of the colours. A little bizarre, I know, but man. I was transfixed.

I’ve tried to budget. Believe me, I’ve tried. I set myself a limit every month and swear I won’t go over but one foot in to Topshop and I’m gone. They should start up loyalty cards just for me.

A recent example of how far my addiction has gone was last week. I tiptoed to the kitchen one night to open my cupboards and discover that not only was my bread developing a city of mould, but the milk carton didn’t even contain enough for a cuppa. Tragedy. Now I love my cup of teas, but I’d spotted the most stunning playsuit in Topshop a few days previously (check out the photo to have a peek) and, as I stood in front of my bare cupboards, belly rumbling, I have to admit.. I chose fashion over being fed. But what can I say? It was a nice playsuit. I’ve officially hit a new all-time-low.

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