I sat on my kitchen

I sat on my kitchen counter top reading
the latest In Style and listening to Renee Fleming. I was dying to have a glass
of White Zin, but as the state polices (and pimps) all the local liquor stores
and thus mandates a 7 p.m. close time, I remained on the counter, flipping the
pages. I must confess that I am thrilled that pink is back this spring. I love
pink. Not love as in a Legally Blonde kinda way, but a "it's so very feminine
and sexy" way. I don't know how anyone of my gender can wear pink and not feel
like a glamorous woman. The sweet cardigans hanging in the store windows have
been flirting with my pocketbook. I walk by and they wink and give a shy, but
coy wave. My leather wallet can't stand the temptation much longer. Even the
tubes of shimmering spring shades of lipsticks stand up straight and smooth,
like a cone loaded with your favorite frozen cream. My lips quiver with weakness
when we pass. They furiously rub themselves to let me know they are feeling
scantily clad and those lipsticks would be just perfect to cover their
nakedness. I love spring. Not just because the toes come out to play in all
their new bright frocks, but because it is warm enough for them to do so. I love
grass green and sky blue just where they belong, beneath my feet and above my
head.