Pink Walls - An Ode To My Mom

My mom painted the walls of my childhood home a deep berry pink. It was probably the early 2000s when beige, brown, and taupe were the fucking rage of sad housewives in their fancy homes, full of painkillers and relationship problems. My mom chose pink. My mom chose pink against the purpley shag carpet that I was allowed to pick out after she pulled up the 70s green shit I loved so much. She chose pink even though everyone wrinkled their foreheads and unsuccessfully held back how they really felt about pink fucking walls. To this day it’s still a running joke. My moms ‘midlife crisis’, 'that time Tammy had pink ass walls’, shit I even make fun of it. I made fun of it today as I picked out my own pink paint for my own pink walls. I’m still laughing now, as I drink a glass of wine, sitting in front of a pink wall.

My moms pink walls were a perfect example of not giving a single fuck what anyone thought, a trait from her that has carried on to me. Pink walls are a metaphor in my mind about how I want to live my life. A little over the top, a little vulgar, a little gross, but still not giving a fuck.