The first home R and I ever bought together was in a “planned community” in California. We moved into an apartment and bought the home when it was just a slab of concrete among other slabs of concrete.
But, as a planned community under all sorts of draconian restrictions, we weren’t allowed to pick the house color; they had to go in a particular order down the street. Why? I don’t know. It just made someone happy.
Anyway, what did we care? We were in a beautiful place, minuets from both the ocean and our work. But once we finally decided to follow the sequence of colors by counting the empty lots in-between, well, it turns out our first home was pink. Pink. As pink as any stucco has ever been pink.
Yeah, real funny, chance.
Still, I miss that small pink home at times, or, more specifically, it’s location in friendlier jurisdiction and its proximity to the ocean (even more specifically, in February, with the legislature in session).
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3 comments:
Pink. Fancy that.
So, let me guess. You were either both secure in your masculinity, gay, or both. ;) Thanks for the post, Scot.
I must admit, I kept wondering if those we knew thought we picked the color from some sort of basic gay instinct... We're not much about the pink :-).
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