Doris spent the day shopping for lipstick. She wanted the perfect shade to complement the outfit she’d be wearing on her first date with Bob. She found a red one called Dynamite. Looking in the department store mirror, she painted her lips, blotted, and tasted. “I’ll take it,” she said.
Later that evening, while they were lying together—he spent and satisfied; she like an unexploded firecracker unfused and unfulfilled—Bob nuzzled up to her and said, “Yummy lipstick.”
Going home afterward, Bob searched in his pocket for car keys and found a discarded dud: the fizzled tube of Dynamite lipstick.