She walked into the room, all cleavage and lipstick.
Red purse large enough to store all the festivities food in. Cigarette smoke swirling above her bulbous head. White evening gown pushing her ample busom up to her chins.

“Which way to the bar boys?”, she said sultrily.
Someone pointed to the left. She heard giggles from behind as she waddled left to the bar.

She ordered her drink and gobbled up peanuts.

A woman on the other end of the bar said, “You can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig”, her companions laughed.

A small, barely traceable tear ran down the proud pigs puffy cheeks. She paid for her drink and left the bar.
She was so pleased with herself when she left home to go out for the evening. Now she felt sad and ugly. Why did everyone have to make fun of her, it wasn’t her fault she was born a pig. She thought that the lipstick would do the trick, and the dress she bought on sale.. but sadly, you can put lipstick on a pig and.. well she would always be just a pig.