Click over to your favorite blog, and pick out the 4th and 14th words (that aren’t “the” or “an”). Drop them into this phrase:
I used to tell everyone that my favorite colors were Black and Blue.
Everyone would roll their eyes around and laugh and say of course because I wore a leather jacket, I rode motorcycles, I played the guitar and I wrote horror stories and worshipped Stephen King and Clive Barker.
So of COURSE black and blue were my favorite colors.
But in my dark heart where I wrote stories about people being buried alive, killer grandma’s, cannibals and murderous ghosts I loved pink.
I adored pink and I didn’t wear a spot of it on my person.
Nothing I owned was pink.
There was a reason for that.
Do you know the world is full of pink haters?
Something about that color sets people’s teeth on edge- mostly women.
I guess it’s because Pink is associated with vulnerability and dare I say youth and innocence.
My great Aunt was buried in a pink coffin and she was one of those ladies who wore pearls and looked prim and proper and she could whip your ass with one arm tied behind her back and she could whistle between her teeth.
She wore dark colors too, but she always had something pink around her.
As I’ve gotten older and less inclined to hide my feelings I have released my inner demon which is pink.
It’s a dark lovely shade of pink and it’s deadly vicious and it carries around this magic marker and when I run into a Pink Hater I can see it slither up their leg straight to their face and it magic markers, ” dumb ass ” on their forehead.
In pink of course.
So now days I always have something pink on me- my shades, my nails, my purse something I’m wearing.
Just a little splash of ” Kiss My Ass “
For real, hating a color is like hating puppies or kittens.
Who does that?
And why did I ever care?