Okay, I think by the time you finish reading this pant-peeingly funny article from across the pond, written by one Caitlin Moran (who had the nerve to steal my writerly voice, but was cunning enough to do it ten years before I started writing) you’ll agree that pantorexia is already the scourge of the states as well.
This cheered me immensely as frankly, I’m having a rough day having just run out of my stockpile of “Mr. Kipling’s Exceedingly Good Mince Tarts” which are sold only during Christmas and only at one store. I really cannot return to said store for at least a few more days unless I want to reveal to all and sundry –or at least the emo kid with the stupid bangs at the checkout stand– that I can vacuum, er exuse me “hoover” up an unseemly quantity of pastry in 72 hours, which I’m pretty sure would make him cry.
Speaking of English to British translations, “pants” in the U.K. translate to underwear here in the colonies.