Little Hormones Everywhere

RIIING RIIING!

Girlfriend: Hey, how does one say cartoons in Spanish?
Lioness: Er… Dibujos animados?
G: You sure?
L: Hell no, wait, gimme a sec… Ok, yes, that's it. Google School of Arts says so as well.
G: Good. You know what I was thinking?
L: No, what?
G: We haven’t done this in ages: one of these days I’ll dig out my pretty skirts and we have to go out! AT NIGHT. We’ll go wild!
L: *wide-eyed shock* WTF?!
G: Well yes, when was the last time we went out?
L: Get off the phone, Ineedtowriteapostaboutthisrightnowbye!

FACTS:

- She DOESN’T like to go out, ever
- She never does unless it’s someone’s birthday or something equally unavoidable
- She HATES going out, always
- She never does unless severely emotionally blackmailed outside of birthday season - and even then, tricky

Insert possible scenarios:

SCENARIO 1:
G has been kidnapped by aliens who brainwashed her and intended to have their wicked way with her. Since, alas, anatomical differences did not allow for biblical interspecies knowledge as we know it, and this isn't Cocoon, she, having fallen violently in lust with their sexy, rugged green leader [a Rugby playah back home, WHO CAN BLAME HER], and in the throes of hormonal ravage, has decided she will instead immolate herself on the altar of the Teenage Gods Of The Lisbon Night. As things stand, she need not bother don a pretty skirt, our teenage boys only require half a female pulse and yippy ya yei there you go. The whole country runs on testosterone.

SCENARIO 2:
G, who has both one steady boyfriend here AND a virtual lovah in North America whose head she turned when they met here and vice-versa [a smooth talker with piercing blue eyes but it’s all very chaste even if a bit ethically blurred - if you discount the groin-grinding in an African club in Lisbon that is, you KNOW how those dances are, GROIN-Y, I heard the windows were fully fogged up], has, in the throes of hormonal ravage, decided things need spicing up YET AGAIN, it therefore making sense that she should immolate herself on the altar of the Teenage Gods Of The Lisbon Night etc. And I am to participate in all this novel dissolute behaviour. G, I have to warn you though, I am through with barn bonking, you’re on your own this time.*

Hormonal ravage keeps insinuating itself into my mind because, frankly, what other reason can there be? The woman’s gone mad, I tell you, THIS IS NOT MY FRIEND TALKING!

***

And while I was typing this: RIIING RIING!!!

G - Well, where is the post? Can't see it anywhere. [Thus one tricks one's friends into reading one's blog]
L - I’m finishing it, don’t be like this, there’s an art to it you know, beauty can’t be rushed.
G - Oh shut up! [thus she abuses me regularly]
L - Now, you WILL want to kill me but remember I’ve changed details and made you anonymous alright?
G: Like what, you told them I need to be dragged out of the house?
L: Something like that, yes, just REMEMBER what I said, ok? I’ll give you a ring when it’s finished.

G: Ok, but we ARE going to go out, right?

Yes. Mad as a hatter.

Me, I’m roadkill, dahlings. But I’ll try to visit your dreams so you won't have to miss me too much, let's see how that works. Possession doesn't sound half bad either, that way I'd be able to post again. But dude, I don’t care what’s cooking, I am so NOT wearing a frilly skirt!


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UPDATE: the bitch called ME a bitch, she really did! Let’s see: there’s your celibate, well-behaving, innocent-eyed Lioness; there’s your I-have-a-hot-body-here-and-another-across-the-water-with-whom-I-exchange-steaming-if-still-controlled-emails. HULLOOO!!! Know what else she said? "And on top of everything else you say this time I'm on my own!" I see how that can be a shocker, G, seeing as how we USED TO GO HUNTING FOR MEN IN PACKS, fangs glistening in the dark, covered in sweat and latex, trying to flush out the right sort of young, firm-fleshed prey. Yes. I rest my case. She IS frightening me. If this can come to pass, believe you me, ANYTHING CAN. So seize your chance and let us know: what would YOU like to see happen in your life? It's now or never.


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* NOTE: The Lioness would like to keep her reputation untarnished. No frolicking in barns ever took place, not with her, not with anyone she knows, SERIOULSY. There simply aren’t enough barns, you see.