Without having much time to elaborate on it, due to an urgent need to fret and pull out my hair, I am going on a date. I know, can you believe it? It has dawned on me that he will be picking me up in four hours. That's four hours from now. Tonight.

I have four hours to go on a diet, make lots of money and go buy new clothes. This, as you can imagine, is rather worrying.

So far the only four hour diets I can think of involve a cheese grater and a bonesaw and are as you can probably guess, none too appealing. And as for clothes, well if you scroll down ever so slightly you will see that two weeks ago I removed every wearable item (that had been come unwearable, by the way) from my wardrobes and am left only with tatters of bed sheets and fig leaves to conceal my nudity. This is not appropriate first date wear, according to Cosmopolitan. Sadly I am without the funds to go deck myself out at a clothing store and short of going to the Red Cross and begging for mercy, I'm shit out of luck as they say. I can think of ways to get my hands on some money and/or new garments, but I think being bailed out of jail for shoplifting is less than a perfect start to a monumental date.

Somehow I'm thinking this date will make the horror movie we intend to see look like a fairy tale. As my good and optimistic friend Pat said to me, "I see nothing but comical disaster coming from this". I tend to agree.