Afterpay is the Hello Kitty of credit lines. While it lures you in with its soft, fashionable purr, you will quickly learn shit gets serious when it drops the dead bird of default at your feet and claws your credit rating like every other credit providing cat.

Afterpay knows that teens need to be eased into a life of liabilities, after all, you don’t become a level 70 outer suburban debt sorcerer overnight.

Tara knows to stay away from credit cards. Her brother is still sleeping rough in consolidation city after maxing out two cards on overseas holidays and enough ecstasy to put a grin on Margaret Court’s face while being stuck in traffic during Mardi Gras.

So in a moment of Kochie-esque brilliance, she decides to fuel her raging clothes addiction by only using Afterpay. Fun, fashion and fiscal responsibility, yassss Tara, slay.

She first dipped her toes in the world of over-extension with a totes cute $300 The North Face puffy vest from The Iconic. Fuck that $100 peasant garb from Kathmandu, with Afterpay, Tara was able to dress at least 3 social classes higher.

Weeks later, Tara had paid off the puffy vest. She only needed to borrow $20 from daddy to cover the final instalment. All in all, a total success. However, the road to fiending is paved with good experiences.

The following week she stepped it up a notch, filled a swimming pool full of checkout items and she diiiiived in it. Damn, this time, she had spent $600 on 2 complete outfits to a 21st she was going to on the weekend. Excessive for a girl who earns 600 a fortnight? Not with Afterpay.

Like throwing irresponsible rocks at the hornet’s nest of repayments, she was beginning to feel the unpleasant sting. This time, she needed to flog a bunch of her shoes off on a Facebook group to meet her final repayment.

She was creeping ever closer to desperation, ever closer to taking a walk down the desperate alleyway of dick suckery. Is this what it sounds like when indebted doves cry?

She calms herself, she will totally get like a gazillion dollars back on tax. So it’s a perfect time to splash out on an elegant ball gown and more shoes than a #blessed centipede.

Fucking #yolo bitches, she spends $1200 on her next spree. Feeling guilty pangs, she decides to ask her father how much she actually will get back on tax. Her dad reckons the best they can do is $300 and he has a buddy who is an expert on tax back. Oh shit.

Unable to pick up more shifts, she does what so many have done in moments of impending poverty, she agrees to date a Western suburbs “perthonality” and turn on the waterworks to hydrate her drought-ridden finances.

She scrapes through with only a few late payments fees. She has learned nothing, and soon the third party debt purchase vultures will begin circling.

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?

$