Pink Lust

Pink Lust

We’re sitting in the lung doctor’s office, patiently waiting our turn.

Sitting next to mother is a plump woman in her late fifties. She has an unruly mop of dyed-brown hair, owlish glasses, and preference, apparently, for tight black sweat suits.

In addition, she has long, sharp, hot pink glamour nails.

Mom, bored, glances over, stares at the long nails for a few minutes, then asks, “What color are those nails?”

The woman beams. She raises both hands and waggles her fingers in the air, as though casting a spell on my mom. “They’re pink lust!”

Mom had no more questions.

We’re sitting in the lung doctor’s office, patiently waiting our turn.

Sitting next to mother is a plump woman in her late fifties. She has an unruly mop of dyed-brown hair, owlish glasses, and preference, apparently, for tight black sweat suits.

In addition, she has long, sharp, hot pink glamour nails.

Mom, bored, glances over, stares at the long nails for a few minutes, then asks, “What color are those nails?”

The woman beams. She raises both hands and waggles her fingers in the air, as though casting a spell on my mom. “They’re pink lust!”

Mom had no more questions.

Mark McElroy

I'm a husband, mystic, writer, media producer, creative director, tinkerer, blogger, reader, gadget lover, and pizza fiend.

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Who Wrote This?

Mark McElroy

I'm a husband, mystic, writer, media producer, creative director, tinkerer, blogger, reader, gadget lover, and pizza fiend.

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