Friday, 12 February 2010

Pink kerplink

I have a confession to make, and it's a touch embarrassing. Now I am not easily embarrassed as a rule. In fact I've devoted much of my adult life to learning how to be completely unembarrassed by anything that might occur. It was rather a shock to find out that nobody else had thought to acquire the useful skill of brazening out potentially shaming events. I went to see Coraline with Mon Geek and a group of friends at the cinema when it came out. Enrapt in our 3-D glasses, stealing each other's pic n' mix as often as we thought we could get away with doing so, we watched the big-headed spindly animated child crawl up the purple tunnel to her mysterious other world. In the dark, I elbowed Mon Geek and hissed sibilantly: "THAT LOOKS LIKE THE VIDEO OF MY COLONOSCOPY."
The eight rows around us turned to ice.
So I forgot that to non-sufferers a colonoscopy is still a taboo subject. (To me, of course, it was a chance to have a good huff at several cubic litres of free gas and air. What did I care what was going on round the back?) Ah well. Brazen, you see.
But my confession actually has nothing to do with that. Not really. But it always shocks people. I mean, here I am, black hair, black clothes, intellectual tastes, love of heavy music...and a total, unsurpassed adoration of all things pink.
Seriously. Everything. Pink saucepans, pink toasters, pink bracelets. Pink skull hair clips. Pink kettle, pink ladle, pink egg timer. Passion for strawberry yoghurt. Love of prawns. Pink knickers. (OK, I didn't tell you that one.) Pink is indulgent, girly and ineffably cheerful. Pink makes me happy, especially in the kitchen when I'm normally overheated, pissed off and can't find anything. Is that so odd?
OK, so maybe I don't look like the typical pink-lover. And you know what? I wasn't, once. As a child, I hated pink, mainly because the pink frilled dresses I was festooned in as a tubby, solid five-year-old made me look like a shed in a pelmet. I never liked Barbie. But as I've grown older and more sensible, my tastes have grown ever more absurd and preposterous. And pink. But I like them. And it makes me happy. So if you don't like it, sod you.

1 comment:

  1. It's all very well getting pink kitchen stuff, but it's generally me using it! Your delightful gentleman, resplendent in his black fineries, band shirts and shaven head, fiddling about with a pink ladle. I must look so terribly masculine... ;)