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20th December 2016
12:10am GMT
Every Friday morning you wake up with good intentions: I'll stick to my diet, I won't drink, I'll go to the gym after work and I'll get up early on Saturday to catch up on work I missed during the week.
The intention is there, but let's face it... we all know how the next few hours are really going to go.
On the route home from work, you accidentally drive by the gym and convince yourself you're too tired to get a good workout in anyway. Your downfall has already begun.
You tell yourself you don't have FOMO – you even tell other people you're not bothered going out... because if other people believe it, you just never know. You might actually fool yourself.
Sure you'd drink that many calories if you went out; you might as well use the 'spare' calories for a takeaway. You'll burn it off in the gym tomorrow morning anyway, so what harm?
You need something to go with the takeaway, after all. And in fairness, instead of your usual vodka and coke, you have a bottle of light beer – it's the better of two evils, and it's just the one.
Good things come in pairs, after all.
You look at your watch, it's 9.37 – you realise your next few actions will decide your fate. And before you've even finished that thought, you're grabbing your coat and rushing off to the offo. Pick up a naggin – you can drink whatever's leftover next time you go out anyway.
Well that happened fast.
People are beginning to ring taxis, you panic... 'Give me 5 minutes!' you say, as you run upstairs, throw on a pair of black jeans and a black top (you have to wear black, it's slimming...).
You wake up. It's Saturday. You're feeling disoriented, shocked, queasy, and guilty enough to keep promising yourself that next Friday WILL BE DIFFERENT.
Worse still, you're now nursing the only feeling known to mankind that's worse than FOMO... the Fear.
Why do I do these things? Why? WHY?!
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