Here, though, are the trifling ones:
1. The sin of envy: I am consumed with low level, constant envy for many, many people. Most recently, this has manifested as I crawl around the house on my hands and knees for the 8th time this week, fulminating and trying to remove the tsunami of hair and filth that two dogs have set off all over my floor. I am envious of the CFO's TWO cleaners and live in au pair. I confess it.
2. The sin of Maje. I have no money. But no no no money. Nevertheless, I bought a top from Maje in a fit of catastrophic stupidity last week. It was pre-Tall Tales, I was flipping out, my jumper was too hot and had a hole in and I made the mistake of going into Selfridges vaguely looking for a tshirt or vest top, lost my bearings and ended up at the Maje concession. This is not a good excuse. Also, I see on the Guardian website that Zara does one that is virtually identical and probably a tenth the price. Figures. Also, I spent some time staring at pretty paper Korean accounts books online today. As if THAT would help. Fuck off, Emma, you are a moron. Oh, do you want to see the top? Would that help you gauge the sinfulness better?
It's part leopard print, part Rorsach test and the inkblots spell out: "you are really fucking stupid".
3. The sin of extreme slatternliness, particularly grave for a beauty bloggist. This is a sin of many parts. I have idly torn two cuticles this week so they are bleeding and swollen, then I tried to trim one with the office scissors. There is a, I don't know, a THING on my finger that has been there for nearly two years. Like a horrid little callous. I just pull at it occasionally for fun. I slept in my makeup last night, and my clothes the night before that. I haven't been to the dental hygienist for 800 years. I have about 14 different cleansers. I do not use any of them. The Chanel Dragon on my toes is so chipped it is more of a small lizard. I do not have the energy to groom both myself AND the house, so I do neither. Let us not even speak of the garden, which has been entirely consumed by some kind of giant fungus.
4. The sin of cowardice. I should be negotiating. I am not negotiating. I am shuffling my feet awkwardly, failing to say anything when the time comes, then sulking when things do not miraculously go my way.
5. The sin of reckless personal endangerment. Seeking out the company of someone deranged (related to something furry recently of this parish) purely to listen to his completely delusional monologues both for 1. pure, joyful entertainment; and 2. writing material. It is simply too good. I cannot resist, even though it may result in me being disposed of in a number of heavy duty plastic bags somewhere in Auderghem.
6. The sin of intolerance. Things I cannot tolerate this month: slow walking pensioners on public thoroughfares, excessive reliance on emoticons, anyone sitting in coach 5 of the Eurostar and having the temerity to speak, the evil empire of Nespresso.
Right. The drill is as follows, new confessees. You may, if you wish, suggest penance for me. You may also confess your own sins and I will devise a horrible penance for you. Go on, confess, the sweet balm of secular absolution awaits you, my children.