Showing posts from February, 2011


There is probably no color in the Crayola box with which I have so complicated a relationship as pink. Hot pink. Blush. Rose. Tickle-me-pink. All of them, really. When I was a little girl (and don't make jokes about a trip to Switzerland, because the emphasis here is on /little/), I had very, very short hair. Oft I was mistaken for a boy. So I clung to evidences like the pink lace on my black hightops (it was the 80s) for a while, but then kind of gave up and went the tomboy route. I could look cool, but not cute. I was the bodyguard, not the princess in make-believe. And I did not wear pink. My mom protested, of course, that I looked so pretty in pink. And the kicker is: I do. I have that blonde hair, the blue eyes, and whether my skin is creamy pale or sun-cancered tan, my complexion looks great in pink. Especially pale pinks. Especially all pinks. But no. No, no, no. I wore a blue prom dress, red t-shirts, even, somehow, an entire palette of earthtones for a season, but no pink.