It’s the color of roses in the spring, the fresh hue in an early sunrise, the sweet tint of a baby’s plump lips. It’s pink.
Why do so many people hate it? Maybe “hate” is too strong a word. A more accurate term should be: dislike, disparage, avoid. We’re taught from childhood pink is a girly color, so no strong person, man or woman, should wear it. It’s like a flag of delicacy and weakness. Really? I suppose there’s a reason, somewhere back in the long ago, that evolution has yet to correct.
It seems unlikely this perception will change any time soon, so I looked for the bright side. You see, years ago, before I met my husband, I bought a nice tool box and filled it with necessary household maintenance items: nails and brads, hammer, screwdriver, pliers . . . you get the idea. It was big enough to hold a couple of extension cords, duct tape, electrical tape, a tape measure, and glue. It was a he-man dark blue.
Then the man of the house entered my life. He had his own toolbox and tools, but I still needed my tools from time to time for those little “I’ll get to it one of these days” jobs that never were “got to.” But, when I opened my toolbox, not only was it dirty and dusty and in utter disarray, the things I kept there had been “borrowed” and never replaced. After that, those someday-jobs truly never were done, because only God knew where hubby’s kept his toolbox. It was never in the same place place twice.
So . . . when I saw a pink toolkit with pink-handled tools, I bought it. Yes, it’s tiny, and no, it doesn’t hold much of what I need, but it’s better than nothing. And the best part? My hubs will not touch it because it’s pink. It stays where I put it, and it’s clean and neat.
An avoidance of all things pink by most of the male population has the potential to be a good thing. I wonder, if we dyed our sons’ undershorts pink, they’d finally keep their pants pulled up.