Awash in Pink

In anticipation of our daughter’s coming out party later this month, my wife has been dutifully washing all of the baby clothes that we’ve received from family, friends, and friends of friends. The first grandchild of either side of the family, I expected her to be bestowed with innumerable gifts from these impending relations, however I was taken back by the micro clothing bounty from friends and friends/friends. Our child will not go naked, which is a pledge that I plan on enforcing her whole life.

The key to non-nakedness is clothing, which I now come back to in expert literary fashion. My wife’s laundering was interrupted by a social engagement, so she asked me to insert myself in the process by transferring the clothes from the washer to the dryer.

Now, I’ve been washing clothes since my early teens, when I reluctantly learned the skill from my impressively crafty parents. During that time, I’ve had my fair share of mishaps involving global chromatic change, however I have never seen my wife make such a rookie mistake. Thus, I was quite surprised by what I saw when I lifted the lid of the washer - the entire load had turned pink!

Of course, I never should have doubted my wife’s ability, for the pink hue was no mistake. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the clothes were supposed to be pink. Sure, I hear pink is a popular color these days for baby girl accoutrements, but I didn’t realize our daughter-to-be was going to be awash in it.

The truth is, my wife and I never set out to procure a uni-pigmented wardrobe – it just kind of happened. In order to reassure myself that I our baby would not be subjected to such outright color bias, I went to the baby closet to examine the rest of her diminutive duds. Hmm. I hope our child likes pink, although she should be used to it after nine months in her rose-colored uterine apartment.

A Hummer of an Excursion

I used to get most upset about the massive Ford Excursion that is often parked outside our house in North Park. How I long for the days when this monstrosity was the only vehicular blight in our quaint corner of this up-and-coming urban neighborhood of San Diego. Unfortunately, in classic Southern California fashion, the owners of the Excursion have been one-upped by the recent addition of a Hummer.

No, not one of those pansy H2’s. Those bastard GM creations can’t hold a candle to the original, desert-stomping variety, which make no attempt to add refinement or make apologies for their lane-busting girth. Suddenly, the Excursion doesn’t look so bad – which is wrong on so many levels.

While not an expert on the psychological profile of someone who needs to own an expensive, impractical and environmentally insensitive means of transportation, I now fear that the Excursion owner will soon be trading it in for a Bradley Fighting Vehicle. You have to keep up with the Joneses after all, even if the Joneses are hell-bent on destroying the environment at a rate of 10 miles per gallon.

Some may feel I am overreacting here, as I did choose to live in the SUV capital of the world. However, I feel it’s perfectly reasonable to say that my block isn’t big enough for the both of them. Literally. If they ever park directly across from each other on our humble street, I’m not sure my car will be able to squeeze past. And, they always park on the street, as they won’t fit in their driveways. That should be a first sign – if it’s too big for the driveway, then perhaps it’s too big for the neighborhood.

Of course, I know I’m not alone in my hatred for these offensive icons of American arrogance and excess. In fact, there’s a whole Web site devoted to it, which has recently been updated with my own submission.