le pudge pandemique

How to make lightly of that extra 10-15-20 of le poids.

Ursie: I consumed five rather three chocochip cookies every night of the shut-in rather than my usual two — and that was after dessert. But c’est le pudge pandemique! C’est la vie!
Brittini: I grok it totally. I had to move to a 2x at Savage x Fenty—luckily Rocco doesn’t mind a bigger me as long as there’s black lace involved. He says he prefers le pudge pandemique.

“It was just mama and me every night for dinner,” says Panda. “Le pudge pandemique! Crested at 240 pounds.”
Jacko said, “I know, Good One, you’ve raved about her butter chicken, not to mention the naan! I envy your fat rolls. Evelynne and I were scared to step foot in Foodtown, so we ate grape nuts most nights. We’re skeletons.”

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Airsport

Hookup in the chi-chi first-class airport lounge.

“Storm delayed takeoff, said LiPo, “so MaryBeth and I had a little public airsport at the new LaGuardia, smeared her flight attendant makeup pretty hard!”

“You know what’s great about the wee hours at Heathrow?” whispers Gemma Bryn in her foxy cockney. “I’ll get to grab you for some airsport while everyone else sleeps.”

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Ellavate

To emulate the sublime scatting of the Queen of Jazz.

Me: You’ve got to come see my niece Addie solo with the high school jazz band—for a ninth grader, she seriously ellavates that shit.
Family friend: Must be in the blood – You used to know something about ellavating when you were a young chanteuse.

“Whitney could trill for sure,” asserted the pompous pop critic, “but she never had it in her to ellavate.”

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The Big Excuse

The Virus as avoidance mechanism.

“I hated all those bleeping webinars,” snaps Micro, “and the boss would always check the Zoom chat to see who actively attended. Now I beg off with The Big Excuse, saying it’s long-haul and I’m too foggy to grok what’s going on. She was sensitive about it. Ha!”

“Swim meets always drove me bonkers,” says Bailey. “But Cypress cried if I didn’t go – until I duped her with The Big Excuse, saying that mommies who’d had Delta had to stay home and rest, and nanny Martha could support a little princess’s backstroke just fine.”

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Livingwurst

Cheap grub when the household economy goes south.

Panda lost his job, then his apartment, and resigned himself to mama’s den foldout, the smell of her foo young and her Sean Hannity addiction, bravely stocking a minifridge full of nothing but Coors Light and livingwurst from the Polish deli in Yonkers.

“I actually don’t mind livingwurst,” said Tommy, firing up the Weber on his fire escape. “To me, it’s as tasty as the Wagyu I used to love, at a tenth of the cost. I don’t have to do Noom, either, as food of that texture is naturally self-limiting.”

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Sheeeit, forgot my mask!

Common disgusted refrain two years in.

Jumped out of the Town Car and tripped onto the red carpet, bulbs flashing, "Leo! Leo!"--sheeeit, forgot my mask! I'll look like a tool in Star. Third time today. All that primo Jack Herer weed doesn't help.

"We need snow bomb provisions," Tron nagged me. But I had to drive home without the requested t.p., soy milk, Heineken Zero or Gerber peas, and got seriously spanked. Sheeeit, forgot my mask! Again!

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The Sauce

Hearts, flowers and even cute little cupids, aka The Real Thing

“I look into his eyes and see vast oceans,” says Panda. “It’s like an amazing, endless stomach ache. I can’t sleep. It is truly The Sauce.”
“Sounds like J.M.W. Turner and a case of indigestion,” grumbles Mouse, a virtual stranger to losing his head over womxn – well there was the sprite back in Fresh Air Fund camp, but that was only a preteen fantasy. You be safe now.”

64-year-old Maggie has embarked on a virtual quest for a young stud. In 90 days, she has connected with a dozen guys on eHarmony and all of them say they are ready for an adventure with an older woman, particularly a "well-stocked lady" such as herself who wants to “spoil a guy”. Too bad because what Maggie secretly longs for is The Sauce.

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