I hate myself for this, honestly. It's so stupid and… childish? Is that the right word? I’m 26, a *manager* at a retail store, for crying out loud. And I'm hiding shopping bags in the trunk of my car like a teenager sneaking out. My husband is probably wondering why I'm always 'running errands' alone. Why I’m so particular about parking in the garage just so, making sure the trunk is always against the wall. It's the credit card statements. He's so good with money, always has been. Frugal to a fault, sometimes, but it makes sense when you're freelance. When you don't know if next month's gig is going to pay the bills or if you'll be scraping by. We agreed, before we got married, that we'd be totally open about finances. No secrets. And now… this. All the clothes I don't really need. The stupid little home decor things that just make me feel like I have some control over *something*. It's not like I'm blowing thousands, but it's enough that he'd notice. Enough that he’d ASK. And I just can't face that conversation. The disappointment in his eyes. The questions I don't have good answers for — why did I buy that? Why now? Why didn't I tell him? Because I needed something new, okay? Because everything feels like it’s falling apart and a new dress or a fancy candle makes it feel like it isn't, for five minutes anyway. Is that so terrible? Does everyone feel this constant pressure to just *pretend* everything's fine? I don't know what I'm going to do when the trunk gets too full. Or when he finally sees a statement. It’s going to be a disaster. A HUGE disaster.