Confessions of a Shopaholic

Confessions of a Shopaholic

By Sophie Kinsella

I admit that there have been times where I have had to take breaks from books before I am mentally prepared to dive in and finish the damn thing. But I ALWAYS come back. ALWAYS, for better or for worse… Well, except one time.

I read this book because my mom’s book club was reading it and she wanted my opinion. I had no idea at the time that this was a set up. Imagine someone burning themselves on a defective lighter that will burn you no matter what and they say, “Hey, test out this lighter.” And then when you inevitably burn the hell out of your hand, they say, “Yeah, that’s what I found too.” You feel betrayed.

I’m not sure if it is that serious, but, generally, I trust my mom’s recommendations, or will at least respect why she found whatever book entertaining.

I read approximately 40 pages of Confessions of a Shopaholic before I simply could not bear to turn another page. My hand was burned to hell, so to speak. I HATED this book. I hated the plot, I hated the main character, I hated the basic premise. Unless you are the sort of person who has no understanding of self-control or personal responsibility, I cannot imagine how anyone could enjoy such crap. Yes, I understand it was made into a movie and millions of people rushed to see it- well, I am telling you that those people are either buffoons or were tricked into watching complete buffoonery by the presence of adorable Isla Fischer. Either way, Hollywood was wrong to engage in such complete trash.

I could go on and on about my hatred for this book and the irresponsible lifestyle that I simply cannot relate to- but that would probably take up all the space this teeny blog offers per entry.

I, in no way, shape, or form recommend this book. If someone hands it to you, know that they got burned into reading a piece of shit and now want you to suffer too. Politely thank them and live a painless life.