My youngest girl will not mind me saying that she was a tomboy as a child, often found up trees and usually muddy with scraped knees. She had a tendency to fall into lakes, rivers and even large puddles, and was always upbeat about any mischief she got herself into. Throughout all that she loved pink: pink dresses, dungarees and assorted other flimsy items that never lasted long due to tomboy activities. She also had a lot of pink dressed barbies and a pink bedroom together with flouncy everything. Luckily, she outgrew the pink phase although the tomboy mischief remains. Pink was not a colour I loved at all.
Now it is a colour I adore. Not the bright fuchsia pink, but the delicate pink of roses, peonies and other flowers that I persuade my other half into buying. Sometimes a small morceau of fabric with blues and greys will have a tiny hint of pink, and it seems to bring the whole piece alive. My collection of quilts also has some pink ones, with roses being a favourite.
My other half knows me so well and for big occasions, and small ones too or just occasionally just because he knows I will love them, pink flowers, especially roses, hit the spot. He says matrimonial harmony is easy when pink roses are available. I’m not so sure that I like him thinking he can buy me flowers and all problems will be fixed, but I do love receiving them.
