How Lil' Lioness went and got her arse shrunk

Lil' Lioness has had the Buttocks Blues.

She quit smoking ages ago, always a mistake as it turns out, and gained 4 kg (8.8 lb). Lil' Lioness being the focused sort, she’d apparently focused on gaining them on her rump. Not her face, where they might do some good. Her rump. Said 4 kg stayed put upon resuming smoking. Smoking isn’t merely stupid, it also lets you down.

Rumpy-not-so-little-anymore Lil' Lioness suddenly didn’t fit into her pants, oh the horror. No really, THE HORROR. She was hoping it was a phase, and well, it was. A phase borrowed from some universe where days last 72 h and phases stay put.

Lil' Lioness bravely hit the shops, and the adjective is sadly accurate. Bravery was what it warranted. Lil' Lioness cannot see the point of having yellow lighting in a country of sallow skin. [Oh all right, some are olivey but they too look icteric.] Lil' Lioness cannot see how carnival mirrors help sales, sobbing women are less inclined to spend money plus they need the bills to pay for the therapy that comes after retail therapy. Lil' Lioness and her friend actually physically recoiled from their reflections when they unexpectedly came upon a mirror. Her friend does not look like a cube in real life, nor does Lil' Lioness actually look like a wine vat. When you see women stumbling out of a shop, white-faced and anguished, please be kind, they went in to try and find pants. They are shell-shocked. They will be thinking But I look awful, why hasn’t anyone told me bfr that I look this awful? And now Summer is coming and I can no longer walk around wrapped in a blanket and tell people it’s the latest trend in the Appalachians!

No amount of male flattery will help these women, they’ll just snarl at the well-meaning souls as their pupils become elliptical. They know, see. They saw it. They’re broken.

Eventually, they’ll forget abt it enough that they’ll think it’s safe to venture in. Again. It is not that women cannot learn. They simply have a had time believing the universe really means to bugger them. Personally. Surely it can’t be that bad. So in they go and the lighting, the lighting, oh how it hurts! Courageously they stand bfr the pants wrack, elegantly wondering What the fuck is fashion coming to and who chooses these models bcs, see, they were sure the 80’s were over and the torn jeans look were sort of passé even then, how can one be requested to give 30 euros for something that looks like it was not only white-washed but personally chewed and spat out by the friendly foreign workers? And this is Portugal, my friends, not Belgium, not Scandinavia, Portieland, where the men are short and the women shorter, where they typically have short legs and fertility-inducing arses and, dare I say it, a touch if the belly, who could possibly have decided to send boot cut (good), low-waisted (nightmare, a nightmare, some of us dislike the thought dialysis!), tight (aaaargh!) models to the Land Of The Stumpy? [Lil' Lioness seems to have had an infusion of foreign genes for she is taller than most and doesn't look Portie but even she goes in and comes out stocky.]

Thus one cringes often when walking the streets, praying for Trinny and Susannah to fall from the sky. They are needed.

So.

Lil' Lioness.

Now recovered from her little What, a cub you say? For me? Surely you jest Ah Ah AHAHAHA. Now attending classes again. Now on the streets again and not in that way, though it’s not unfair to say the harlots seem to dress better than she does right now, nor that they’d surely have more clients. The bleakness of it all.

Yesterday Lil' Lioness dragged a friend to an impromptu pant hunt. She needed someone to physically carry her out when she passed out from shock and hit her forehead on the stupid mirror and bled all over it and by Golly it would serve them right. The landscape was fraught with the usual perils, the ones that left her blind [OHMYEYESMAKEITSTOP!] and the ones that left her wanting to curl up into a ball and weep in the changing room.

And then, and then!

And then she had a brainstorm. Man pants. In she went into a shop and look, lovely army-green cargo pants. And look, they fit! And in she went into another shop and look, lovely dark-blue cargo pants, and look, they fit as well!

And thus our Lil' Lioness learnt that Portie men are more femaley than their women bcs the pants were wonderfully cut in a feminine way, normally-waisted (actually, thin-waisted), needed no belt and they were magical as well - you step into them and half of your butt disappears. HALF. Lil' Lioness was beyond herself and actually couldn’t speak the first time she put them on and stepped out to show them to her suffering companion, she could only stand there wide-eyed and point at the previously vast region of her derrière. It was gone! GONE! In a parallel universe a woman was surely screaming upon waking up and finding she no longer fit into her pants and where had THAT come from overnight and she should never have stopped smoking.

Lil' Lioness is the cold-hearted sort and is simply happy that THAT went somewhere.

Lil' Lioness now has the ButtRocks Swing, sistahs!