I spent most of my life dismissing pink as being “too girly”. My mother despaired of ever getting her little tomboy into a frilly pink Easter dress, when all I’d rather wear was sports jerseys and shorts.
Maybe I’m mellowing a bit as I get older or maybe its regret that I didn’t have another child to “try for a girl”. There’s a whole ‘nother messed up story about that adventure that I’ll write about some time in the future. But I didn’t have a little princess to put in a frilly pink dress either.
Either way, I’m developing a passion for pink. Not to wear, because it clashes horrifically with my skin tone. But if I have an option for a gaming avatar or desktop design on the computer, I find myself unconsciously picking some shade of pink. Last week, I bought a pack of pens that write in hot pink ink. I ordered a fuchsia tote bag and a blush pink makeup case. My weights and yoga mat are pink and even my new running shoes have bright magenta accents.
I have a special fondness for this picture, not only because its pink, but its a photo of the climbing roses my husband gave me for my very first Mother’s Day ten years ago that still bloom every year, all summer long.