I like pink. I festoon pretty much everything I can in pink sparkles - my nails, my cell phone, my Hello Kitty vajazzle*. You may recall I have a pink wig.
Sometimes I wish I was a demure woman who outfitted her life in ecru and putty and other classy, adult colors from the Pottery Barn catalog as I sipped organic tea and read books without pictures. Truth is, I'm basically a lady child who somehow got in charge of when people have to eat their vegetables and go to bed.
The color pink gets politicized when it comes to raising girls. To-princess or not-to-princess are staunch opposing camps in the momosphere. Moms will rips each others' guts out over if and when Disney is ever okay, never mind the fact that girls absorb princess culture by osmosis. I don't recall pointing out a princess to either of my kids and yet that is their chosen occupation. Well, the big one recently changed her mind to being a clown when she grows up, so I guess she's getting more realistic in this economy. Anyway, they can be brain surgeons or chimney sweeps for all I care, but I'll be damned if I'm personally giving up my pink.
The other day, I bought this giant pink chair. I don't know why. It doesn't go with anything besides that pillow and I don't need it, but I love it, so there.
I put it on Facebook for some reason. Now that I have a little congregation on Facebook, I just throw things out there. Soy ham! Wind machines! This particular thing got 70 "likes" - a big deal for me considering my blog is basically me yelling opinions into a vacuum. SIDE QUESTION: Is thinking your blog is good like thinking your own baby is cute?
My family lives in a big empty house right now. We just moved from the city where shopping in bulk meant you bought a two-fer of paper towels. Now we live in a cavernous suburban home where you can belt out show tunes at the top of your lungs and sound amazing. Trust me. With the accoustics of an empty warehouse my All That Jazz has gone from meh to MAMACITA. But we need to furnish and decorate this place like People and so far my living room just has two chairs and a dance floor. I went to Benjamin Moore to get a paint sample of a neutral color to put up in the common areas. The color was called "Revere Pewter". Can't you just see me cupping a steaming mug of smug in some chino pants while looking sagely into the middle distance atop my sensible furniture? I will be an adult, dammit.
Naturally I came home from the store with this wallpaper:
I was pretty excited. Sure, it might mean I'm turning this stately home into a North Shore discoteque but I can only be who I am. Pink and purple metallic wallpaper is pretty much what you'd find if you sliced me open while performing street surgery. I'm all glitter in here folks. Wouldn't you know, though, some internet a-hole took that opportunity to tell me what a hideous person I am? Hideous. Me and my hideous chair and hideous wallpaper can have each other.
Let me tell you something. If you have a problem with me and my opinions on gun control, body image, feminism in comedy, or any of the other sensitive topics I fire out of here like a circus cannon, speak up. Tell me about why you disagree. Comment on that blog post. Sure, come on over to Facebook and hand me my vajazzle there. Let out out! What is not healthy is bottling up your grudges and spraying it out like a shaken bottle of champagne all over a picture of pink wallpaper. It's called being passive aggressive and it gives you warts.
In the famous words of En Vouge circa 1992, free your mind and the rest will follow. Be color blind and the wallpaper won't offend you. Wait, maybe that wasn't the right quote. Just stay cool, Internet.
*Kidding! It's a clown fro. Kidding again! It's a pizza triangle. KIDDING AGAIN.
Filed under: Fine Whine