“What’s the deal with that ‘Pink’ stuff?” my perplexed husband asked the other night. He’s been seeing it around town with increasingly regularity, he explained, at the gym, at the grocery store, at the racquet clubs where he teaches tennis. And not just on sexed-up tweens or rumpled college girls, either. On women in their late thirties and forties, with glossy blowouts and equally glossy lips. I’ve noticed it, too, this rash of grown women who insist on wearing Pink, the Victoria’s Secret sub-brand that is marketed to teens and college students. The line that is responsible for stuff like this, this and, oh God, this; the line that has swathed a million butts in “LOVE PINK” slogans.