Overheard, and over-concerned

I heard another classic exchange between work colleagues this morning. This was between two young till girls while serving...
"I can't get Stephen to take me out, Cheryl. How did you get your Mark to take you out the first time?"
"I told him I'd suck his balls out through his japs eye. That got him interested pretty sharpish."
The alcoholics in the queue nearly passed out with excitement.

I'm getting nervous about next week's weigh-in. On Wednesday 1st July I have to go in early and climb the scales in the manager's office so we can get a final reckoning on my weight loss. There'll be a photographer there from the company magazine, so I could be splattered on the front cover for every supermarket employee in Britain to look at. Or I could be the centrespread 'Failure Of The Month', depending on how it goes. I've been on target since the diet started back on April 1st (which feels like a decade ago, and yet only seems like yesterday) but I'm starting to panic now. I keep having dreams that involve gluttony and saturated fat and they're so real I wake up expecting to find McDonalds cartons by my bed. I'm so paranoid about not making the weight that I'm cycling every day and eating as little as possible, so I'm tired, hungry, confused and saddle-sore. Just one week left to go, that's all I keep saying. I'm ticking off the days like a prisoner locked in confinement.

RC 25-6-09
2142 BST