Strops and Stilettos 6

We are in crisis. The promised body contouring not only failed to produce strong results, it entirely backfired. Instead of sucking me in and pulling me up I expanded to whale-like proportions. Something to do with water and it being moved around and some such rot, and so poor me had to waddle around like a bloated walrus for the entirety of Saturday night. There was some alleviation on Sunday but I have to say it put me right off my roast. A lesson learnt, in the endless quest for lazy fat-busting devices, one must be a risk taker, and sometimes those risks just do not pay off. At all.

This weekend I shall thus be giving extreme beauty a very wide berth and simply making do with spanx and a liquid lunch. Sometimes you just have to stick to with those old wives' tales of tried and tested. Speaking of old wives, altruism calls to the knell of Mothering Sunday, I have of course pointed out that in these financially stricken times it seems churlish to go around throwing perfectly good shoe money on unnecessary trinkets, but she’s having none of it. So I must to the shops demain and try and conjure something up, but who knows what other sort of retail consortiums might waylay me first. I mean one can just never rule these things out, although at this rate I’m only going to be good for a Mama Cass-style smock.