I just saw my life flash before my eyes. On the big screen. When i say my life, i use that in the broadest sense of the word. Meaning way, way less glamorous, less fashionable, sans cute male object of affection and minus one fabulous Sex and the City wardrobe consultant. OK, you need it in English: I just saw Confessions of a Shopaholic. Aside from its cinematic lack of value and almost embarassing predictability, it struck a chord (and made me chuckle a couple of times).
You see, as Married Georgia can eagerly attest, I too have a little, tiny bit of a problem in that department. I'm the first to admit I like shiny, sparkly new things. A lot. Just like the gorgeous Isla says: they make me feel special and happy and warm and fuzzy inside.
For about 20 seconds. And then guilt sets in. Ah, the guilt! Proof that i am indeed my mother's daughter. Allow me to explain: my Mom - the total, complete and utter opposite of a shopaholic. All her life her mantra has been: save, save, save. And because the universe needed to find its balance again, I came into the world with the occasionally unique purpose to? You got it: spend, spend, spend.
Now I'm not saying that seeing this on a huge theater screen will make a difference. I'm just saying it got me thinking about it. Again. Shut up. Baby steps, okay?