It's true that you never forget your first love.
When it came to boys, I was lucky enough to marry my first true love and we're living happily ever after. I'm a lucky girl.
But when it comes to color, well..me and pink dated a very long time then broke up. I felt like I was the one that gave and gave and gave. Sacrificing my dignity for those pink laminate counter tops in our first home 25 years ago.
The custom floral chintz bedding with cabbage roses the size of my head. The mauve dust ruffle. I hear the kids are calling it 'Marsala' these days. Ha!...rookies.
The soft pink teflon skillet that cooked the perfect scrambled eggs on the weekends. Oh yes...I know that was all my idea, but pink, you quickly turned ugly and cold. I know I held on too long, but I needed you. I was young and didn't know better. You were everything to me.
When the babies came I just couldn't handle your fiery heat any longer and we said goodbye. I thought that would finally be the end of us.
But recently, on a cold gray winter day somewhere in a deep dark dusty rose corner of my heart, old feelings began to stir. It was an urge that led me to the dim and dingy corners of cheap thrift stores to fill bag after bag with books in every shade of blush and bashful I could find, just to get a little taste of you. I lied to the cashiers, telling them all those pink books were for a school project. Oh, the thrill of hiding you in the back of my car....I haven't felt this alive in years!
I justified going back to you with thoughts like "It's just this one room. Just for a little while. It won't hurt anyone, especially if I add some brass and new pillows. I deserve it."
"I want my color senses to feel alive in the way only you can make it happen, pink!"
And now we're back together. It feels so right, pink. You're my hot and steamy little Valentine to myself. My foolish color folly.
Now, shut up and kiss me!