I grew up in the Color Me Beautiful era of makeup/beauty/fashion. What this meant was that as a child with strawberry-blond hair (and really, emphasis on the blond, it’s just that and were white-blonds and is a brunette, so I really stood out), it was considered a faux pas to wear any number of colors. For instance, red, orange, yellow, and pink. Navy was generally the color I ended up in, or lavender (because when and I had matching outfits, which happens when your mom makes most of your clothes, and yes, there are pictures, but they’re all in Illinois; she was the one in pink and I was the one in lavender). By junior high, neon colors had become popular, and then I got to wear hot pink, but really, very few people actually look good in neon, and I’m glad that phase passed quickly. As time went on (also known as puberty, or the age of hormonally-induced insanity), my hair gradually got redder and redder. (Of course, at some point I started coloring it as well, but these days I color it about the same color as my roots used to be before they started going brown, and you can see my natural color in my pictures from Arizona after I chopped all my hair off and it all grew back in au naturel. No, I won’t link to those pics, because as far as I’m concerned they’re hideous and I’d rather forget I ever had short hair. But this is a really long tangent.)
Well, that was a really long intro to basically say… they were all wrong. I can wear red, and some oranges (let’s be honest, very few people look good in orange and yellow). And best of all, I can wear pink. Baby pink. And I look good in it. And it makes me happy. Especially when my boss tells me that I look pretty today. It’s all the baby pink mohair, I’m telling you. It makes anyone look and feel pretty. Well, maybe not everyone.
(I’m trying to focus on things other than my dying coworker, about whom we just got news today. So pardon me if my posts are shallow and frivolous, but it’s how we’re going to get through today.)