For some reason, since I was a child I found comfort and a skewed form of love in shopping. There's this unique rush of non-sexual pleasure when buying something new. Shopping bags look more and more gleaming and attractive, products look everyday shinier and the comfort in basking under the embrace of feeling something new makes my life more and more precious is ironically priceless.
The problem is, just as Becky Bloom would put it: Your credit card is not your real friend, who may decline love and comes back to bite hard in the end of the month. I know what you're thinking: This poor bastard needs therapy!
And my question is: Do you take Visa?
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