On Being Pink

It is not fun to get old.
There are all kinds of things about getting older that are not fun. You can't eat beans anymore, for one. I miss navy beans. You would not want to be around me if I didn't.

It's hard to tolerate loud noises. I had to just about give up Led Zeppelin, and even the Who can give me a headache on occasion. Motorcycles make me murderous, and a loud clang nearly gives me a heart attack.

I can't turn my f-ing neck far enough to look out the back window of the car. Everytime I back out, my neighbor's Hummer is in dire peril. It's nice to have someone in the riders side so I can say, "Anything coming?" and not have to worry whether there is or not. Bending over SUCKS. If I decide to eat 5 country ham biscuits one day, my ankles and fingers swell like I've taped my mouth to an air compressor. I never know whether it's actually hot inside or out, or if it's my hormonal flux causing me to sweat like Monica Lewinsky in a room full of 60 year old housewives.

But what really perplexes me is the fixation I've developed for men who are pink.

When I was young, I only dated good looking gigolo types, and the number one requirement was a good suntan. I've always kept a tan, and still do. To hell with wrinkles. If you are overweight, you look better tan than flabby white. I actually dumped my first real boyfriend (who "de-flowered" me while my best friend got herself "de-flowered" by his best friend the same night so we could compare notes...) because he was a blonde and I realized how bad he would look at the beach. Never mind he was a John Lennon look-alike and one of the coolest hippies in our crowd.
He was too pink...or white.

One of my later boyfriends, who was probably schizophrenic, used to lay on his white station wagon and bake in the sun with baby oil and iodine for HOURS...in temps of 90-100 degrees.
Even I couldn't go that far...but he had a fabulous tan. Of course he dumped ME...or sort of, anyway. But tan has always been what I liked a man to be. Until now.

In the last several years, I've developed an attraction for extremely clean cut men with pink ears. I can stare at pink ears for hours. Pink hands with pink fingernails are like Spanish Fly in my Metamucil.

HA! GOT YOU THERE. I DO NOT USE METAMUCIL. I WILL NEVER USE METAMUCIL. IF I NEVER WENT TO THE BATHROOM AGAIN AND EVENTUALLY EXPLODED IN A RAIN OF UNDIGESTED NAVY BEANS, I WILL STILL REFUSE TO USE METAMUCIL.

But the point was pink. WHY O WHY am I suddenly attracted to extremely light skinned super clean metro-sexual men with pink ears??? It is a little known fact that men stop having pink ears at about age 50. From that point on their ears get huge and the earlobes start to wobble when they get mad. So of course, that means that I am attracted to YOUNGER men.... Even if I found a pink man my own age, what would I do with him while I spend hours at the pool?

I have to get to the bottom of this aberration and stop it. I even noticed the guy who works third shift at the local grocery store tonight because he had pink ears and fingers. He's old enough, at least.

Never mind that he has a mustache like Snidely Whiplash and weighs about 110 lbs soaking wet.
I've got to start getting out more....