Pink bathroom walls, pink cooking stove, even a pink fridge
Long colorless years of war in an English convent set me up for this. That and the ever more drab “Utility”years, when new clothing required tags with the bitten circle to prove its manufacture of the cheapest cloth, minimal seams and hems of frugal depth. Stafford Cripps’ post-war regulations overcame all joy. After that, anything of color looked marvelous to me.
Pink was all I could think of when planning our first American house. An explosion of bright color and pinkness dominated my desires (muffled, of course, by the farm-boy scrappiness of my new husband’s upbringing. Everything else had to be grey or tan because that would wear longer. Why that was I never discovered. Perhaps it meant grey or tan wouldn’t be noticed, so any dominant color would do. But I had other thoughts.
If I could have a pink Magic Chef gas oven I might even learn how not to burn every pot on the stove-top. But that would only work if there was a pink fridge to go with it. When you pick a color to dominate your vision you have to be unreasonable about it. It’s the only way.
Unfortunately there wasn’t such a thing as a pink fridge. Then we came across a bargain gas fridge. Since the house was in the building stage, gas plumbing was installed for the already out-of-style fridge. Fortunately gas was cheap to run, and painting the fridge pink was no big concern.
I finally got my pink fridge and lived with this huge efficient pinkness for interminable years, until the fridge and my marriage failed about the same time. I doubt the fridge had anything to do with the marital failure. Exhausted dreams are a common occurrence with the passage of time, giving us an opportunity to make a change.