fact, that there's only one thing to be ashamed of in this environment, and that's being someone without a kink -- a vanilla. And it takes our group's comparatively handsome would-be spanker about 20 seconds to diagnose us, correctly, with this malady. "I'm not entirely a vanilla," I start to object. Then I realize I don't know if "vanilla" in this context is a noun or an adjective (is it "I'm not a vanilla" or "I'm not vanilla"?), which causes me to abandon my pathetic attempt to fit in. "Yes," I finally say, glancing at the bottles of hand sanitizer in between all the Swedish fish and sandwiches on the refreshment table. The scent of cold cuts wafts under my nose as I add, "I am vanilla. A vanilla."
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