Wherever you are, look around. Find something pink. The first pink thing you see–write it down. If you’re somewhere without pink, get up and look for some. If that’s not possible, or you still can’t find something pink, look up at this picture. What is it? Figure it out. Write about it. 5 minutes. Go.
Mine: Pink Underpants
Mother likes to dry her underpants on the banister in the hall, so whenever I’m going to have friends over I either suffer the embarrassment of their seeing her unmentionables, or the embarrassment of touching them. Because she won’t move them on her own–they’ll stay there until she needs a pair to wear, and the only time they’re all cleared off is when I have company or when she needs to do the wash.
I don’t mind the old, ratty ones so much. It’s the pink ones I can’t stand. The pink, lacy things that couldn’t possibly cover her bottom. The old ones are appropriate for a mother. The pink ones, I don’t want to consider. Especially since their appearance on the banister often coincides with a boost in Mother’s mood. She might as well come to the breakfast table crowing, “I got laid last night!” which would at least prove to us she’s mentally unstable and perhaps provide grounds for committing her. Except to commit someone, you have to prove they’re a danger to themselves or others, and I don’t think promiscuity or shamelessness counts as danger.
I suppose I don’t have any proof she’s promiscuous. Underpants alone aren’t damning. And perhaps she wears them to boost her self esteem or some other new age idea. They often show up the morning after bingo night–she washes all her unmentionables in Woolite in the sink, and always immediately after removing them–and often after nights out with her women’s club. These outings might account for the next morning’s jolliness. Perhaps it’s not that she’s out betraying Father’s memory; perhaps my mind is simply suspicious and dirty.
Of course, if you believe that, then you don’t know my Mother.
Let’s inspire each other. Share yours in the comments!