Confession Of A Shopaholic Romane & Geschichten

I've been a liar for as long as anyone can remember. When I was seven, I told Mom that Jared smashed our piggy bank. She searched me instead and found the missing coins in my pocket. When I was 12, I insisted I didn't steal my classmate's notebook. Then it was found inside my backpack. When I was 18, I accused my stepfather of assaulting me. He produced photos proving he was out of state that night. By then, everyone knows exactly what I am. A compulsive liar. A daughter who will say anything. At 22, I sit in front of a camera with my psychiatric evaluation in my hands and start a livestream. "For the next three days, I'm going to show you what it's like to spend 22 years being calle

We stopped for iced coffee, decaf for me, obviously, and soft pretzels that Sophie devoured like she hadn't eaten in weeks. "Confession," she said through a mouthful, "I love this. Shopping with purpose. Feels like we're undercover agents. Agent Soph and Agent Em, disguising the evidence." I laughed, shaking my head. "Pretty sure most undercover agents don't waddle into maternity pants." She snorted soda through her nose at that, nearly choking. "Stop oh my God you did not just say waddle!" People stared, but neither of us cared. By late afternoon, we'd conquered nearly every store in the mall. My trunk was full of discreet shopping bags, each one holding a tiny piece of my secret. Flowing t

"This is part of your penance. To shed the layers, to reveal the truth of your desires, to be utterly vulnerable before God… and before me, His instrument. Do you truly wish for absolution, Sister Agnes? Do you truly wish to be cleansed of these 'filthy thoughts' you confessed?" His words were a silken trap, tightening around her. He was right. She had confessed. She had yearned. And now, the path to release, however terrifying, was being laid bare. Her fingers, trembling, went to the small, pearl buttons at her throat. Each one felt like a monumental effort, a betrayal of everything she had ever known. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the booth.

"You're deflecting from the fact that you bought your fiancé two wedding-related gifts because you have a problem with commitment to single purchases." I set down the teaspoon. "Okay. Fine. Maybe I have a slight issue with decisiveness in retail environments. But in my defense…" "There's no defense. You bought two gifts. You're a gift hoarder." "I'm thorough." "You're a mess. A lovable mess, but a mess nonetheless." I looked down at the bags again. The notebook and the watch. They sat there looking innocent, like they hadn't just exposed my complete inability to do anything in moderation.

“Dear Father, I have sinned and I am here to ask for forgiveness. If my life had gone the way it was supposed to, I wouldn’t have done all of these things. I would have remained steadfast. I would have remained with Clinton and I wouldn’t have left the church, but life is such a bitch. The cards that I was dealt were not in my favor, and so I had to make it work somehow. Forgive me for all the wrongs I’m currently doing and forgive me for the ones I’d do in the future. I hope that one day, I can find my way back to you. For now, I am in the world and I’d do all I have to do. “ She said , taking a deep breath before getting up from the kneeling position she was in. She felt a little less guil

She realized that she had spent too much money for mostly useless and glamorous things. "Ehm, let's consider it as accidentally. You already know how I am when it comes about shopping, right?" Selena reacted with her stiffened gestures. She knew that she felt guilty, but she tried to find a reasonable excuse. In her expectation, she believed that the Alpha would always forgive her flaws, as usual.

Libby Gretchen loved shopping. She loved the perfumed, air conditioned mall. She basked in the attention of the sales staff and pawed over different fabrics and textures. She would try on new boots and hats, get a free make-over and then head to the spa for a manicure. The garments she brought home would often never be worn or maybe worn once. She was a shop-a-holic. It was a compulsion to her. She would rather eat porridge for a whole month so she would have more money to shop than eat a proper diet. Of course, now money was no concern for her and as the time had passed she only loved shopping at the best boutiques. But the same could not be said for her only daughter.

I could care less, this wasn't what I wanted for myself so whoever was going to be my boss should not find it surprising whenever I screwed up. For my first day of training, I didn't want to wear something too office-ish; I had thrown on a wide-leg skater denim trouser, a white camisole top along with a beige-colored oversized blazer. I walked into the huge building, everything in here screamed luxury. Not in an extravagant way but a—billionaire luxury who loved subtle grey and white with a mix of dark brown—kind of luxury. The strong musk of a citrusy fragrance had jabbed my nose then I remembered it was from the fragrance I used this morning. I walked towards who I guessed was the receptio

It would be humiliating for both of us if I appeared wearing cheap dresses. “I went to different shopping brands today and had found too many beautiful dresses. Everything looks good on me and it was so hard to choose. This lady also keeps on telling me to try these dresses so I ended up buying more than I should have.” I told him with a sly smile hoping that he wouldn’t be angry about it. I know myself, and I know how bad my spending habit is especially as a person who has always been treated like a princess. I couldn’t stop myself from buying more and more because the salesladies were all convincing me to try everything, and they were all so kind that it as hard to refuse them.

◦◦ Sawyer ◦◦ I have dearly departed Motina to thank for my unhealthy shopping addiction. I’m not sure how it started exactly, but knew I shared her penchant for all things new, luxurious, and expensive since the touchy age of fourteen. While I’d been awkwardly stepping into my sexuality and forever trying to hide the persistent odor of booze on my breath, mother’s presence at our estate became scarcer than ever before. She usually rushed back into Naples a couple days prior to father’s return from whatever business he was handling, eagerly inviting me into their massive master bedroom so she could show off her limited addition handbags and custom spun silks.