Despite impending doom

I feel less depressed than last week, mainly because I attended a fabulous bonfire party (without the bonfire) and ate pie and peas and plot toffee and I refused parkin. The lads are recovering from their colds, so at last we can go and play outside in the frost, and most importantly my pre-menstrual misery has lifted. Suddenly being on the breadline doesn't look so bleak anymore. We've been through worse and its only money (and bread).
I seized my newfound zest, and hauled it to the gym for a programme assessment. "I want to reach my goal weight and be superfit by my 32nd birthday." My fitness mentor smiled kindly (she knows its an impossible task) but she tried her best. I left the gym with wobbly legs and a heaving chest. I'm still not sure why I agreed to sprint for so long, and those crunches at an awkward angle balancing on a ball can't be good for anyone . Still- under my folds of flesh I will have abs like a washboard and the body of an athlete. Hurrah!! There really will be a skinny person inside me just crying to burst out.
Today John discovers his fate. We both spent a sleepless night silently rehearsing what he was going to say to his boss when they give him the boot. I imagine my version, involving a carving knife and numerous expletives might be different from the measured and dignified response he will deliver.
He continues to apply for fabulous and sometimes outlandish jobs undeterred. He is currently my number one hero, but don't tell him- he'll only think I'm going soft.