Pink Places: Roast Beef and the Broken Machine

In the words of The Good Doctor, "These people are cra(z)zy."

In case you hadn’t heard, plastic surgery to the female genitals, otherwise known as vaginal rejuvenation, is quickly becoming very popular among women who might perhaps feel they have too much labia, or they’re too loose and they’d rather be tighter. You can read more about this here. (Forgive me for being a pussy at work; I didn’t feel comfortable searching further for better info.) I read about it in last Sunday’s New York Times. A 22-year-old girl had the surgery done before she ever had sex because she wasn’t comfortable enough with the way her pink place looked beforehand.

While I was in a stall in the bathroom earlier, just finishing up, a woman raced into the bathroom and straight to the sink. She was making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry of pain. She was hunched over the sink, slapping her mouth with water. I looked at her through the crack where the stall door opens. Should I wait till she leaves? Is she puking? Does she need my help? I opened the door. She looked at me and in a French accent exclaimed, "Pink! Pink. It’s pink! What do they put in these cakes? It’s no wonder people get sick!" It's true; her lips and tongue were bright pink. No kidding, I said. Then the paper towel dispenser wasn’t working. Together we took it apart and tried to fix it. No luck. It’s a broken machine anyway. Plus she was more concerned about removing the bright pink from her lips and tongue. She had a doctor’s appointment later, she told me. I had work to do and things to blog about, so I darted.