Of booties, rears and heinies (however you want to spell that)

I had a nasty man pretend to bump into me in order to grab a handful of my left ass cheek on the street today... who then had the gall to waggle his eyebrows at me when I turned around in shock, trying to figure out how to scream "Ass-grabbing pervert!!!" at him in Russian. I had to settle

At least I still get some attention amidst the supermodel wannabes, even though it appears to only be from sex-offenders-in hiding.

Butts do seem to be the focus of this vacation, though, for some reason or other. The girls in Madagascar, specifically the not-officially-prostitutes-but-getting-paid-for-it-in-some-manner-by-nasty-old-men at the Les Sirenes nightclub on Nosy Be, had the most perfect behinds I have ever seen on a human being. I must admit, I openly ogled, and I am a straight girl. It was impossible not to. They had... little oranges in their pants or something. Round, perky, and impossibly small. A whole new standard in buttitude. Finished on either side by teeny waists and pretty legs, but the butts were just so transfixing, it was hard to look at anything else. And they knew it too, and certainly knew how to waggle them about. A girl in a short bright orange dress clung to a fence just behind us and just started shaking it a thousand times faster and better than anything in a rap video, for no apparent reason. It was so enthralling that Jon and I just stared at her butt fixedly for a good minute or two before returning semi-shamefacedly to conversation. At the next table over, a group of very Anglo boys were trying to cover their shameless ogling and obvious desire with serious conversation about post-colonial culture and the grossness of the sex trade. The dirty one with dreadlocks eventually gave in and found himself a girl. The other ones looked on with impotent dismay and jealousy.

Later that night, one of the hussies (no other way to term them... they had their asses hanging OUT of their pants and were eyeing up MY MAN) asked Jon to do up her belt while he was in line for the bathroom. I was mistaken for Malagasy twice, which I'm going to attribute to my butt (even though it's not composed of happiness and bouncy round things like those girls' are) and not the combination of my having a tan and the inquirers being drunk (though one was actually Malagasy... the gay best friend to all the girls there. Very flattering. The other guy was French, sixty, bald and disgusting.)But that has very little to do with butts, and more to do with the strength of the rum made there.