In the Pink
My husband just spent the weekend painting a perfectly lovely, carefully decorated, but chartreuse, room a shade of pink called "Cat's Meow". The house was a disaster as all my daughter's furniture and stuff was in the middle of the living room. Sydney loved it--more new hiding places for hide and seek. Some background is needed to truly understand the anguish of all this. Just this weekend, one of my oldest friends made the comment that I should consider therapy for my aversion to electronics out in plain sight. I spend days or even weeks selecting paint colors and not due to indecision. Choosing a paint color involves thought, trips to the paint store to select swatches, putting up the swatches in the appropriate room and "viewing" the different shades in the changing light and then doing this all over to find that perfect swatch. My best friend knows that when she asks my advice on a paint color, that she needs to ask weeks before she actually needs it, and that I will be moving into her house for a day or so to select that perfect shade of whatever. Pink is not my favorite color. I really shouldn't say this because it does, well, date me and my daughter thinks that today is my thirty-second birthday, but I grew up in the era of Gloria Steinem. My daughter has a gender neutral name for heavens sakes! Princesses, tiaras and pink just are not my thing and I was surprised that my daughter so shamelessly embraced the Disney princesses in all their glittery, pastel glory. How could my very own daughter be such a self described "girly girl"? It has taken some time, but Sydney now has the pink room that she has wanted for years, the decor police are (temporarily) in the closet and I am struggling with the urge to close the door, but I think it's okay, because Gloria did marry, after all.