I’ve got this thing about the color pink. I’ve hated the color for a long time- probably since high school. I don’t actually remember when it started happening. I remember LOVING pink when I was little- drawing pictures of princesses and pretty girls in pink dresses and passionately loving some favorite clothes of mine that were pink. I do know that my sister and I still have matching comforters from around the time I was in 7th grade. So it happened after that. When we first moved to Fairbanks I painted my room pink and that was in 8th grade. So it happened after that.
One of the funny things about my dislike of pink is this: I’ve consistently tried to dress my girls in clothes that aren’t pink and both of them love pink. Both of them choose pink clothes if they’re given a choice… It must be something about being a little girl. I found a couple really cute dresses at Value Village for them to use as a dress-up clothes plus I made a couple skirts with these really shiny fabrics. With all the choices they have, both of them prefer the pink “princess” (their name) dress.
I’ve written several poems with references to pink in them, which probably reflect how I feel about the color pink now. Here’s one of them:
Girls, giggly and rude, pink and mean.
I stand in the corner and watch.
I am dressed wrong.
They are in jeans and tennis shoes (spotless white)
and pretty ironed blouses.
I wear a dress and brown loafers.
And on the days they wear dresses, I am wearing jeans.
My eyes follow their giggling, roving circles.
They play jacks, jump rope, tether ball,
sometimes they just whisper to each other
pointing to the boys, or to me.
I stand on the edge of the playground, watching.
My mind floats away, and I dream
of fairies and witches,
super heroes and maidens saved by strong
blond men on white horses.
Imperfection is Perfection
3 weeks ago