I’ve never been a big fan of the color pink. Too girly. I flip right past the Pink section of the Victoria Secret catalogue in pursuit of black lace and cleavage.
But lately, everywhere I look I see pink.
And it’s pretty sexy.
I’m living in flat open ranchland surrounded by five mountain ranges now. Every morning the sun drops in and paints our huge canvas of a sky in every nuance of pink imaginable. I get a repeat performance at sunset.
The twice-a-day shows have been blowing my mind for over a month now. I feel like I have a pair of rose-colored glasses permanently affixed to my face.
But lately, everywhere I look I see pink.
And it’s pretty sexy.
I’m living in flat open ranchland surrounded by five mountain ranges now. Every morning the sun drops in and paints our huge canvas of a sky in every nuance of pink imaginable. I get a repeat performance at sunset.
The twice-a-day shows have been blowing my mind for over a month now. I feel like I have a pair of rose-colored glasses permanently affixed to my face.
And then the other day, my UPS man dropped off a package and included a copy of the free daily newspaper from Steamboat.
It was pink.
I read every cotton-colored page that was dedicated to breast cancer awareness. The stories of the survivors, their courage, strength and hope brought tears to my eyes. To raise money for the movement, the community is throwing a black lace/pink tie fundraiser called Bust of Steamboat where they auction off high-end, breast inspired art. Last year they raised $45,000.
So I’m walking through the hay meadow by my house at sunset, the surrounding peaks rosy with alpenglow, wondering if my lesbian friend in Steamboat would want to don a pink tie and be my date for the breast event. I'm not being present at all as I start fantasizing about what outfit I'd wear: the lingerie gown with the black lace bodice or the black lace pants.
I look up and see this car drive by:
It was pink.
I read every cotton-colored page that was dedicated to breast cancer awareness. The stories of the survivors, their courage, strength and hope brought tears to my eyes. To raise money for the movement, the community is throwing a black lace/pink tie fundraiser called Bust of Steamboat where they auction off high-end, breast inspired art. Last year they raised $45,000.
So I’m walking through the hay meadow by my house at sunset, the surrounding peaks rosy with alpenglow, wondering if my lesbian friend in Steamboat would want to don a pink tie and be my date for the breast event. I'm not being present at all as I start fantasizing about what outfit I'd wear: the lingerie gown with the black lace bodice or the black lace pants.
I look up and see this car drive by:
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