When I was a kid, I spent an inordinate amount of time at my grandmother's. At least half my childhood memories involve being at her house. I was the only grandkid in town; the others lived in Detroit, so who had favored status? Was it me?
And let me tell you what. The customer was always right when you were my grandmother's grandchild. I got to do whatever I wanted. All the snacks in the house were purchased per my liking, much to my Uncle Jim's ire.
(He was only 10 years older than me, so he was still there, and lived to make my life miserable, doing things like eating all my personal snacks before I got there and such. Fortunately as he got older and started bringing girls around, I was able to retaliate by thwarting his sex life dramatically. "I think I'll sit here with you guys!" I'd announce cheerily, after Gramma went to bed.)
The point is, I would sit on Gramma's lap and ask her to sing songs. It was like having a cushy juke box. "Gramma, sing about blue," I'd say. And lo and behold, she'd know a song about the color blue.
"Ohhhhh, bluuuuue is a color," she'd warble. "Ohhh, blue."
It took me years to figure out she was making songs up. I really thought she had an incredible repertoire until I was about nine. I was never the brightest bulb.
Believe it or not, this little story has a point. Not one that will change your life or anything, but still.
For the past maybe 35 years, pink has been my favorite color. Pink pink pink. Everyone knows it. I am all up in the pink. So to speak.
But recently I've begun to notice something.
Do you know blue is the most common favorite color in America? If you are familiar with my particular brand of narcissism, you know the last thing I want to be is common.
Crap. Blue crap.
And I don't like dark blue or royal blue. Just pale. Who knew you could change this way? I thought I was pink for life.
Oh, and while I'm on this topic, I went to see Blue Valentine yesterday, which was a depressing movie.
Left me feeling a little...you know.