I'm cute. I admit it. I've fought it for years, denied it, attempted to circumvent it, but I've finally reconciled myself to it. I'm small, I generally have a bubbly personality, I'm cute. It's a cross I have to bear.

At my core, though, I have a slightly rebellious nature. People called me cute, so I wore the most un-cute things I could think of. All through high school and college, my wardrobe color of choice was black. My friend Demin called me Death Girl.(This was in olden times, before "Goth" was a Recognized Style.) Pants, shirts, sweaters, coats: black, black, black, black. One day, I think I wore something blue, and my friend Bo looked at me and said, "You're wearing colors!"

The cigar-smoking anti-cute:


Even after college, I wore the typical New Yorker dress code: dark, muted greys, navys, deep greens, eggplants. A few years ago I branched out into browns. But recently, colors have been added to the fashions of the day. Sometimes I indulge in green, blue or lilac; if I'm daring, I occasionally even wear red.

But pink? HELLS, NO!!! No pink in my house, ever!!

That is, until I discovered I was having a baby girl.

We went to register for her layette (baby clothes like onesies and nighties, blankets, towels, etc.), and of course, EVERYTHING was pink. My shopping basket looked like a bottle of Pepto Bismol had exploded. My hubby said, "Why is everything pink?" to which my step-mother replied, "Because you're having a girl!"

At first, my natural instinct was to rebel. So what if it's a girl? Find things in green. Tan, white and cream. Maybe even yellow, though it's my least favorite color next to orange. But eventually, I realized how adorable my tiny daughter will be in her little pink nighties and tiny pink hats and itty bitty pink socks.

I embraced the pink. After all, my daughter is going to be ADORABLE! Like mother, like daughter.

I even bought myself a pink watch. With kitties on it.



Ain't it cute?