The Ladies' Room is always pink, or a soft peach color, or maybe lavender; It is never blue. It is frequented by ladies who wish to powder their noses, or touch up their lips, or reapply the mascara after an extended session of boo-hooing with their friends about why their latest love interest has told them "just now, while sipping his martinis extra dry with two pearl onions, no olives, in the middle of what seemed to be a very, very nice evening together" on the eve of their anniversary, no less, the one-week anniversary of the day they first met, when their eyes locked across the room, and she walked toward him, "in the bar of this very restaurant, and handed him an extra dry martini with two tiny pearl onions, instead of olives" and she wondered then, "What kind of eccentric man puts onions in his martini?"; she had her warning signs even then, on the night they first met "that things would turn out the way they have tonight when he leaned across and casually, oh so casually said: 'Hey, Babe, will you bring me another one from the bar?' "
