Maroon is the Color of Love

Valentine’s Day.

Yes, I know it’s not here yet. But if you’ve been to a Walgreens, Wal-mart or any other American retailer since mid January, you’ve probably been blinded by all that red and pink. I kind of hate it. And no, not because I’m one of those girls who is super anti-Valentine’s Day because I never got enough cards in school—believe me, I’ve gotten over it. I just don’t like red. It’s like being slapped in the face with anger. Or war. Or severe P.M.S. Nothing about the color red is appealing to me. Nothing. Neither is its goofy half-brother orange, but that’s a rant for a different day. Most times, I avoid anything red because it reminds me of my seventh grade science teacher—perpetually pissed off. It’s such an angry color, which makes me wonder why Bruce Banner turned green which is supposedly the color of tranquility?? I don’t know… I just don’t like red. Pink is tolerable. If it’s on a cupcake or a pig. Maybe a cookie.

So every January and February rolls around and I have to prepare myself for the inevitable blindings. I forget it’s coming up, because we just finished New Years and the next holiday is a MONTH away. A month! But we can’t prepare too early for chocolate giving and eating—no, no, no, that’d be outrageous. Except, Batman and I really don’t do Valentine’s Day. We did once, I think. Or was that an anniversary? I don’t know. We celebrated something in a fancy restaurant toward the beginning of the year. Could’ve been a spring cleaning for all I know. But Valentine’s Day really isn’t a holiday for us. What we get excited about—I kid you not—is picking out our candy. Oh yes, we are candy coinsurers, if you call starring at all the options and after ten minutes of going back and forth, finally deciding on what we want the other to get us. Yup. That is what seven years of a relationship will get you. Drool and indecision. Of course I’m wincing the whole time because I’m starring into a wall of angriness disguised into hearts and roses. I should probably make it fast—pick something and get out—but like my Christmas presents, I have to stop and examine everything. That’s right—I actually torture myself in the pursuit of selecting the best candy option. Maybe I’ll want a bag of dark chocolate doves this year, or a cane of pink Kisses with almonds. Or maybe a heart shaped box with the cast of Duck Dynasty on it. I pointed this out to Batman to which he replied:

“I don’t want beard in my chocolate.”

Well noted. And agreed.

We only found ourselves trapped in the red light glow once so far, but we still have two weeks. Or is it three? I’m not really counting, except until it’s over so my eyes can adjust again. Plus, I need to get past eating all that candy. It’s doing nothing to help my resolution to lose weight as I hear massive amounts of chocolate only add to your waist, not decrease it. Bummer.

So

I’ve been wearing my sister’s maternity pants for the last few days. Not to work or anything, but to Wal-mart and Chili’s and pretty much everywhere I travel when I actually leave this apartment. You kind of can’t tell they’re maternity pants and even if you can… oh well. They’re amazing. I grabbed them in a mad dash to look for more jeans this past weekend and haven’t taken them off. My other pair broke when I was trying to fix the zipper that technically wasn’t really broken. At first I was slightly embarrassed to even yank them from my drawer, but really, I think it’s a blessing in disguise. Can we all just agree to wear maternity pants? Can that be the new thing? If shoulder pads and leg warmers worked in the eighties, why can’t oh-so comfortable velvety maroon pants be the new thing? Come on… let’s get crazy for once and put comfort above style. It’s a novel idea, I admit, and it may just be because I’m wearing them right now. Jealous? HAHA of course you are. Believe me—I’m not leading you down a path into sloppiness hell. I mean yes, we may pass through, but it’s just a pit stop. And who doesn’t like sightseeing?

I’ll tell you what—they’re a lifesaver when all the major holidays roll around. Like Thanksgiving, like Christmas, like Valentine’s Day. Oh yeah, I’ve kept them stashed at the apartment since my sister let me borrow them years ago because I needed a pair of pajama pants. And I’m never giving them back. Even if she pops out another kid, I’ll go and buy her more because I just can’t part with this amazing creation. And honestly, I’ll probably be wearing them when Batman and I check out Walgreens this week to do another drool and stare session. It hurts my eyes but at least my lower half will be comfy. Because, as I’ve come to realize these past few days, maroon is the color of love. Not red.

Look at them. AMAZING

Look at them. AMAZING

2 thoughts on “Maroon is the Color of Love

  1. Joleene Naylor says:

    I have two pairs of scrub pants that I live in. I love those things. I’ve never tried maternity pants, though… now I wonder what I’m missing!

    Heh-heh, I like pink and red (in fact I even like them together!) but orange… not so much. There’s like two shades of orange that are acceptable.

    I would comment longer but it’s a b**** on this phone.

  2. cgcoppola says:

    Maternity pants–it’s like the secret no one’s telling you. Except me, just now. They are simply AMAZING. Because they’re meant for comfort, and expansion. I never thought about scrubs but I’m sure they’re just as comfortable. Really, if society didn’t dictate a somewhat “proper” dress, I’d probably look like a hobo everywhere I went. Hell, I probably do and NO ONE is telling me. Thanks FRIENDS. Oh wait… I don’t care! Ha!

    Yeah, I like blue/turquoise/green. So I’m glad we live on Earth and not Mars. I’m sure I’d be a real downer on Mars. Oh, and probably dead.

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