Ridiculous Pink

Since when did pink become ridiculous?

Since last week, when I bought this pair of walking shoes.

No offense to pink, it is a beautiful color, it is the color of many lovely flowers, butterflies, and other wonders of creation, but when someone my age wears it, well . . .  you may finish that sentence.

I wore it the next day and my walk was, pun intended, in the pink of health!  I walked more briskly, with more vigor. As I was wearing my camouflage—a hat and loose sweat shirt—nobody even looked twice, not the sleepy kids inside school buses, not their newly-roused drivers, not the newspaper man in a bike, nor the early fellow walkers whose mind were still in dreamland. 

(The thought that my age and my taste in colors are unmatched is called ageism. Have I turned into an ageist?)   

Colors perk me up. Our greatest art Master created all the colors of the rainbow and painted nature with them.  I like gardens, homes, and surroundings with gay profusion of colors.

This cascades down to my walking shoes. My first pair was a daring red. When it fell apart from overuse, I bought a new pair in the same color.  But that was twelve years ago, long before I became a senior.  I have had in-between decent pairs (a black and a white) for those rainy days when I have to hurdle water pools or when I join a group walk.  

But for my individual walk, I bought a yellow pair three years ago (which by then had become outrageous for one like me), and recently, this new buy—a continuing lunacy. I am thinking of buying a screaming orange next. Or maybe a screeching chartreuse.  

Try walking with the brightest of colors on early mornings.  The grace of dawn will brighten your step.