There’s a problem only siblings of the same sex, close in age can relate: The fact that for most of your childhood, your parents/relatives LOVED to dress you in the same clothes, and if there was any difference, it was only in the color.

When I was younger, this happened ALL the time. My sister (2 years older) and I dressed to look like clones of each other, and the only difference in the clothes (if there was one) was that her dress got to be blue, mine was pink.

Always pink.

God! I hated pink. And when we were finally old enough to throw enough of a hissy fit when our parents tried to dress us in identical clothes, I was done with pink. Forever…or so I thought.

In a recent conversation with a friend, we were talking about favorite colors. I said I didn’t have one, that it kind of depended on my mood, to which my friend replied, “Oh no. Your favorite color is pink.”

Pink? PINK?!

She then pointed out that every time she sees me, I have something pink on. Good Lord. I never realized it. Pink had crept back into my life. And not just in my dress, but in my professional life–notice the color of this blog?

Yep. Pink.

I tried to experiment with different templates, colors, and kept coming back to pink.

Is it such a bad color, I ask myself. Shouldn’t someone love this color that’s so reviled by so many women I know (all of their distaste comes from the parents drenching them in this color when they were small).

And really, pink’s a great color. It’s cotton candy, a healthy color (well, okay, pink’s a healthy color for White people. If you see me turning pink, call an ambulance), “in the pink” means to be happy and content, pink is the color of love, bubble gum…the list goes on.

As for me, I shan’t go on any longer. I’ve hidden from my inner color, ran from it, but now I’m ready to embrace it. And people, I’m pink.