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Pink—the color of my shame
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Ever since I was little, I was a tomboy.
Now that I’m older and “oh-so sophisticated,” I’m taking the time to look back on the different phases of my life. I assuming that most of you didn’t know me when I was little, but you might know me well enough to believe the story my mom often tells: “When you were young, you hated dresses and skirts so much that I had to put your church clothes up a week in advance so you’d get used to the sight of them so you wouldn’t struggle so much on Sabbath morning when I tried to dress you.”
Since then, I’ve come a long way. In fact, it was only two years ago that I started wearing skirts for non-Sabbath attire! That was 2 years after I graduated from undergrad! And then I actually started wearing makeup. Occasionally. That was another big shift for me. BUT during that entire time, I REFUSED to wear pink.
My battle with pink began at the dawn of time (well, at least time as I knew it). My whole room in my childhood was pink from head to foot. Even now, my room at my parent’s place is littered with remnants of that period of pink-ocity. The hate ran deep. All my life, I had associated pink with being prissy, girly, and generally useless. And then…and then...it happened. I bought my first pink item. I was a Reebok sports bra. It was quickly followed only minutes later by a pair of Adidas kicks with pink stripes down the sides.
Since then, it’s all been downhill. I’ve gotten ALL KINDS of pink filth. Blouses, skirts, necklaces, scarves and even shoes! So my big question is, “Does this mean that I’m grown up now?”
