Passions were running high that Friday night. A 19-year-old flirted flagrantly with a young cashier at the supermarket. Outside, meaningful stares and intentional encounters of chance abounded. I could literally smell it in the air - the heady scent of lust, longing and pheromones. I was almost afraid that the tall, rakishly handsome man who'd been trying to catch my eye, would smother me with uninvited kisses on the sidewalk. So, I hurried home as fast as I could - away from the web of vice that my hot red lipstick appeared to have spun. Why did I have to wear red that evening? Pink, brown, purple, black. Anything but unabashed, come-hither red.
