Me VS. Pink

For as long as I can remember, I've disliked the color pink. I can't really pinpoint a specific reason for my detest of the color, but I can pinpoint three specific instances in which I experienced actual detest.

1. The pink Easter dress--- in third grade, I recall an instance where my mother was purchasing Easter dresses for Amy and me. This was when we still had some semblance of religious beliefs and before I was smart enough to ask, "If there is a god, why would he make such horrible things happen to people?" We were in Kmart, I recall that specifically. I wanted this knee length dress; it had satin material and lace material over the satin layer. There was a thick satin ribbon in the middle of the dress that tied around the back. I loved that dress...in pale blue. My mother allowed me to get the dress, but I had to get it in the pink shade. I truly think this experience simultaneously cemented my hatred for pink and for my mother.

2. The bubble gum sweatsuit--- Maybe it was because I was a fat child and buying elastic waisted pants and cotton tops are easier than "regular" clothes. Maybe it was because someone in the family thought the outfit was "cute." For a Christmas gift, I received a sweatsuit set. The top portion was a pink sweatshirt with a gumball machine smack dab in the middle. The pants were also pink with brightly colored gumballs up and down the legs. This sweatsuit was horrible --- comparable to the pink bunny outfit that Ralphie has to wear in Christmas Story. I'd say that someone else out there must be able to relate, but surely no one else has family members that would buy her such an atrocious outfit...and embarrassing too...I was in 5th grade!

3. Bedroom walls--- Since childhood, the bedroom walls of the house where I grew up were a shade of pink. The walls were technically a pale mauve, but the shade was close enough to pink to warrant my loathing. When I was in high school, I loved the black and white magazine ads that were trendy for brands like Guess and Calvin Klein. My bedroom walls were covered with various photos, artistic advertisements, and anything else that would shroud the pink underneath.  Most of the photos were of male models. In retrospect, my bedroom must have been a frightening place for any teenage boy...not that there were many in my bedroom...just one.

Adulthood has made me accept pink a slight bit more. Hot pink is okay for 80s concerts, but for any other occasion...it's still dreadful.