Money Matters

Each month, I try and save for some in case of an emergency or some unforeseen event.  This usually works and since I’ve incorporated this strategy, I’ve made a sexy savings account. However, every month, I have to go through the temptations, the obstacles and the burning desire to shop, spend and end up feeling crazy guilty about it. It frustrates me. Once, I placed myself on a strict no-shop restriction and when I broke it, I refused to tap into my savings. Do you know what happened? I ran outta gas, purposely didn’t refill the tank and walked to work. I lost 3 lbs in a week.

I know it sounds strange and absurd, but if I had let myself spend more, I would’ve been telling myself it’s ok to binge-shop, I need them, they’re necessities (when they’re not!). Does that sound crazy? It’s financial punishment. You do the time in Gap; you have to pay the price. And boy did I pay the price today.

I had a mini-spa day today, pre-planned and accounted for J I felt really good, relaxed and groovy. I needed to hit the shopping centre for only a new pair of pajamas.  Somehow I ended up in Next, Gap, TopShop, and Marks& Spencers. Yes, even Marks & Spencers. All this and I didn’t even get my new jam-jams. I didn’t even get my new jam-jams. It was that serious. I don’t know what happened. It was like some weird cosmic takeover. The inner shop-freak needed to buy those shoes, needed that new blouse, needed those new panties & bra, needed that new Clinique pressed powder compact especially since scientists have introduced new smooth skin technology with SPF! Yes even SPF!

When it reached the point that I accidently pulled out the new credit card, I panicked. I freaked. I had gone too far. Spending my money is fine, I can cut corners and make frugal changes, but spending the bank’s money was just something that sent me into schizophrenic shock. I started talking to myself: “how could you? How could you!”

I got home and I was shaking like I stolen something. I blame the fashion blogs. They drive people to “ooh and ahh” at their pretty thrift/expensive purchases and you know what? You want a piece of the action. You wanna take stylistic photos in alien poses with blurry backgrounds, while looking deeply in the lens as if to say: “Look! Look bitch, I have artistic flair!”  And you know you can’t.  Well I can’t, I’ve tried.

So what plan do I have? Paying the full balance, and never ever pulling that stunt again, no matter how euphoric I feel about the look and cut of that crotch-length red dress.