Never gonna dance again

So last night in my neve-ending quest to find a form of exercise that I will actually stick to, I went to a Salsa class.

In which a tone is set

Last full week at work. Six days to go and counting.

Pre-PMT started. Feels like I am carrying and extra litre or so of fluid with me - in my bra. Ow. 

This is what I get for wanting bigger breasts when I was thirteen. This is my punishment. 

I suppose I could start the diet/exercise regime that I have been promising I will go on for the past five years, but where the fun in that? Besides if I'm to start exercising I need new trainers. 

Should have gone shoe shopping a couple of weeks ago. I hear I could have got them for a steal. 

Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week.