cheesy  ::  breathless  ::   carbon copy  ::  jets  ::  shaving

Cheesy toast. That’s what she wanted right now, cheesy toast. With too much butter, on white bread, with the cheese all bubbling and hot. That, and a mug of hot chocolate, and a hobnob, and she’d be set for life. The thought of it left her breathless. Why was she stuck in this meeting, with a topic that was a carbon copy of all the other meetings, with no air and just warm blather making her want to fall asleep?

She sat up, made herself pay attention. The deficit reductions in the fourth quarter would affect families to the extent that……. Oh, booorring! How could she make herself care about all this? The self help book she was reading has suggested associating pain with your failure and pleasure with your work, but honestly she just didn’t care any more. The boss, with his overly perfect hair cut was listening and nodding, but she thought he might just be asleep with his eyes open. It must be so boring after all those jets to the White house…

Suddenly there was a thump from the end of the table. Everyone turned to the bearded weirdo at the end.  “Damn it!” he cried, looking at his phone. “They’ve rejected Croke Park!”

A collective groan rose from them all, and the file of suits sank a little further. She herself slumped in despair. With all the shaving off she was doing of her expenses, she was done to her last hundred thousand euro in savings. She felt despair sink around her, as her dream of cheesy toast drifted further, and further, and further away…