Pink car valentine
March 12, 2007
The following post illustrates the dangers of allowing your flatmate/catmate to have access to your blog. The following post was written by a feckless feline whilst AWOL from cat obedience school.
It is Valentine’s day
For those who missed out on a pink car or shiny shiny gadget, how much more vacuous does your life feel without it?
Given it is still early significant other may still deliver with a half baked sentiment like:
I’d buy you a pink card for the last five years I forgot your birthday, Christmas present, the anniversary we met, and for treating you like a pink car doormat cum toy toolkit for the last 8 days a week, 365 days x 5 years”
Personally speaking, I had no expectations of significant other on any Valentine’s Day or other event or non-event for that matter.
I havn’t been known to accept offers from the pink helicoptor or car wielding extravaganza male bearer of gifts.
But pondering about pink cards apologising for the doormat approach to is nothing more than a form of masochistic pink purging, electing to remain in a state of pink house and car anorexia.
The only pink thing in your life is the doormat he uses to wipe his feet on you every other non-Valentine’s day of the year. And whilst its nice to own pink possessions, its kind of different when the doormat is you.
As Skinny the Biker Chick said in her interview which we covered in an earlier edition of Pink Car Auction, pursue your own dreams with passion.
Don’t lock yourself in a pink castle waiting for some knight in armour with really bad body surface chinks (that no body correction work, filler or spray paint job could ever correct) to come and rescue you.
So whether you yearn to use those little pink booties, own a pink house, run an interior decorating service, set up a bike business, race Thunder Bikes, or establish a pink car auction site, start investing a bit of blood, sweat and tears to save up for your pink palace or place in the sun.
A pink aura of tranquility will magically descend upon you and the pink turbulence will dissolve. No need for hissy fits, pink tantrums, or pink pouting. There shall be no pink mascara tear trails in sight.
Like Skinny, the pink biker chick, many of us true pink loving chicks have more than a few degrees or credentials under our belts gathering cobwebs, and are not hopeless romantics who reflexively dissociate into pink oblivion when a male gives them anything resembling a heart on Valentine’s Day. (unless of course it’s a real one)
So for those who didn’t receive anything or worse still finally took off your favourite shade of pink rose tinted glasses, pull yourself out of your pink pedestrianism and get off the sacrificial alter. Pink ponderings about a life spent in the back or front seat of a pink car, either with or as, a cardboard cutout are not constructive.
Peter Perfect, those guys that send you sleezy cheesy Valentine’s day messages (probably along with the wife and mistress) may eventually woo you into marriage in your weakened state, a sobering thought. Any sane female knows this is bound to lead you to straight to unadulterated puke pink in the most vilest shade imaginable which will never match your outfit.
The pink plastic fantastic brigade can look elsewhere whilst you build your pink empire for your next pink start up Joint Venture involving pink philanthrophy and a pink business angel investor.
Focus on what makes you happy rather than conforming to any one else’s expectations of who you should be. If they think you are one dimensional, you know better.
For the rest of your evening your pussy or pooch deserves some pink pampering, and after all, everyday is just bikky day to them, not some ancient Greek God myth involving a cupid and arrow.
Maybe you could contact your local pink limousine service, and ask them whether they chauffer pet valentines, kick back and order a bottle of pink champagne.
Go with your four legged friend just in case they come back with their new found valentine, and four legs turns into 16.