Younger’s favorite color is orange. He wore orange, he colored in orange. We even had to paint his bedroom orange.
And he would ask me, “What is your favorite color, Mom?”
And I would respond, “I don’t have a favorite, Younger. I could never choose just one.”
He never really believed me, even though I’m not a liar, and repeated the question faithfully throughout the years.
“What is your favorite color, Mom?”
“I don’t have a favorite, Younger.”
So, a few months ago, at a local office supply store, Younger glanced at the small pile of items on the counter and announced with satisfaction, “You may think you don’t have a favorite color, Mom, but you do.”
I lowered my eyes to the only purchase I was making for myself: pink earbuds. “You think pink is my favorite color, huh?”
“Yep.” He nodded. “Everything you buy is pink.”
“Hmmmm,” I nodded as well. “I buy pink so no boys steal my stuff.”
He shot me a look out of the corner of his eye, reluctantly impressed. “That’s actually kind of smart.”
Yeah, it was genius.
Until the boys matured and realized using pink earbuds or phone case or thumb drive or blanket did not actually get them tossed from the male species.
Now, I have no protection against thieves.
I also have no earbuds . . . or phone case . . . or thumb drive . . . or blanket . . . or . . .