Pink Lace

Today I bought a pink, lace bra.
Whoa.
I don't think I've ever had a pink bra before.
I've had similar soft pastels, like lavender and peach.
In fact I think I've had every other colour under the sun.
No...wait...LIES.
I haven't had lime green.
Ick.
Well...ick in lace, lime green in a playful microfibre may be fun.
I love the flavour well enough.
But I digress...mainly I'm a black or red type of gal but today I bought a soft pink lace bra.
And - freakishly - it did a number on me psychologically.
It's like...the epitome of feminine.
The embodiment of woman.
The quintessence of soft.
Put on a black metallica shirt? Nope. Still feel soft and pretty.
Put on baggy cargos, a muscle shirt and work boots? Nope. STILL feel soft and pretty.
Walk like a cowboy and scratch your groin? DOESN'T MATTER. With a pink lace bra on, you're still the softest, prettiest thing that God ever saw fit to put on this earth.

Who knew?
And I wonder why none of the other soft pastels had the same effect?

There's just something about this bra...the colour, the fit, the way it looks underneath the clothes....

It's tripping me out, man.
I always thought when I grew up I'd be a fat jolly policeman overdosing on doughnuts.
No way did I think I'd be a painter, wafting around in summer dresses with painted toes and jewelled feet and feeling so....feminine.

I'm not complaining.
I'm just surprised.
Like thunk-on-the-head surprised.
Is it growth to grow into yourself or simply just life?
For surely this is me because this is who I am.
And I love it.
Me.
I love this gypsy woman who twists and turns.

And interestingly enough, as I type this, I am blowing a soft pink bubble out of my pretty pink mouth.

Today is shades of girl pastel.

I'm waiting for a unicorn to stroll in.