I've been looking for this bear that hubby gave me for a while. She was buried in my son's closet of all things. Right before I went to the hospital I had been flooded with memories. Most of them not good. I remembered that I was often dressed in pink. My bedroom was pink walls and rose carpet. My bedspread was pink roses. The end tables had pink table cloths. It isn't so much that I "hate" pink although that's how it felt at the time. I just realized over time that I like all kinds of color. Not a whole bunch of just one. That if I had to nail down one favorite color it wouldn't be pale pink. BUT I don't mind it now in small doses mixed with other stuff. My mother didn't like red so she got me pink instead Her-favorite. It was the realization that I went almost 25 years letting everyone else make all my decisions. If I tried to choose my own it would have caused conflict. We fought about everything as it was so I had to just let it go. Wear the