My little brother’s girlfriend E is another year older today. She’s a sweet little blondie, equally happy to help in the kitchen or join my brother out in the woods on an elk hunt. We love her and hope he keeps her.
The only problem with her is her favourite colour. For some reason I can’t fathom, she’s a purple princess. The woman would wear purple every day if she could, and she regularly wraps herself in purple for days at a time.
As much as I get the royal connotations attached to the purples, and as much as I appreciate its status as the edgier cousin of pink, as the gal who goes to school in a another town and smokes behind the 7-11, wearing chipped black nail polish, I just can’t get behind purple. Quite possibly, this issue relates to my fourth grade year, when I wore pretty much only purples with a smattering of teal for visual intrigue. Whatever it is, I’m a pink girl, and I find the hot pinks and fuchsias particularly appealing. Even my room is painted the colour most commonly found inside a ripe watermelon. Purple is the one colour I never wear, and it’s the one colour I’ve never wanted to paint part of my house, inside or out. The girls’ apartment on Friends always made me shudder just a little.
My brother’s girlfriend hates pink. It makes her want to gouge her eyes out with a spaghetti rake. (Wait, that’s too overly dramatic to be believable.) Pink makes her want to run away screaming, and find some chocolate chip ice cream as soon as possible. (Better?)
I’m wrapping her gift from me right after I finish publishing this post. It’s purple. A gift for her from my Grandma has been hiding in my bedroom closet since August, when we lucked out and found it while shopping for The Electrician. Guess what colour it is?
A couple weeks ago, my mom called me into the back bedroom while the Thanksgiving turkey roasted away.
“Psssst,” Momma said, “look what purple thing I bought E for her Christmas!” It was something I’d seen E wear a few times before, in a very similar purple.
“Uh, Momma,” I smiled, “she has one of those.”
“Are you sure?” Momma asked, “maybe you’re confusing it with some other purple thing she has.”
“No,” I insisted, “I’m sure she has that already, or at least something darn similar.”
On further investigation, which involved my dad and a couple furtive phone calls, Momma concluded that E did, in fact, already own the item Momma planned to give her for Christmas. I guess when we buy all the purple things we can for our favourite little blondie, the chances of overlap are pretty strong. At least Momma has time to locate an alternative.
We’re off to the Olive Garden tonight, followed by bowling and general celebratory shenanigans. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go locate my purple wrapping paper.
copyright 2011: http://bluespeckledpup.com