Get me some Pepto Bismol, STAT!

I am so, so, so sick of "empowered" women's symbols/events/causes being doused in pink. Case in point:

My friend Melissa sent me the above graphic because it bugged her so much; this coming from a woman who actually loves pink. She's also a very successful professional musician. In her words, "I love pink, but have never, and will never, play a pink instrument or use a pink guitar pick."

I'm a firm believer that women can, and do, rrrrrraaaawwwkkk, but this package sure as hell doesn't. It's a veritable pink explosion. This doesn't say "Women Rock;" it says, "Hello Kitty." It also says, "We may be able to handle an axe as well as any dude, but don't be scared of wittle us, boys! We're feminine, we promise! Look, we can prove it by dousing ourselves in sweet, innocent, infantile pink!!"

PUKE!

There's nothing wrong with pink per se, although I personally hate it. It clashes with my hair and makes me look like a live sherbet. This is the only pink item that you will find in my home:

If you do like pink and wear it, god bless. I'm not going to thumb my nose at you; it looks fabulous on some women. My problem lies with the marketing geniuses who decided that all woman-centric "empowerment" merchandise should be pink. Listen up, marketing drones; women buy pink breast cancer ribbons because they want to donate to breast cancer research, not because the ribbons are soooo pwetty. Women (and girls) will probably buy the Women Rock package because they want to support women in music (they'll also be supporting Refuge House, which provides direct services to battered women, children and sexual assault survivors).

Now, those are powerful causes. Why not use red? Too aggressive? How about purple? Hmmmm....too regal? Would it make us look uppity? We can't have that...what about...gasp...BLUE? Lots of women like blue. I like blue. What's that, you say? Blue belongs to the boys? Ooops, my bad.

My first bicycle was a "boys' bike." It was blue, with a white seat and white tassels. It also had that horizontal bar between the seat and handlebars. I've never understood the horizontal bar thing on boys' bikes, particularly when you consider the fact that a boy's junk is external. I fell on that bar more than once, and let me tell you, it was not pleasant. Had I been a boy, I would probably have opted for a "girl's" bike, not wanting to put my developing nutsack in harm's way. Anyway, I remember my father getting a TON of shit from other adults for getting me that bike. I got a ton of shit for riding it. Boys and girls alike would yell at me when I rode by. "That's a boy's bike! Why are you riding a boy's bike??"

Shit, where did I put my Pepto? I'm suddenly in need of a swig.

Aaah, the sweetness of early gender role imprinting and the gastrointestinal disruption that it brings. I just ignored it because, you know, I had a bike, and that was sweet. It rode the same as any other kids' bike, and you know what? I didn't grow a penis. My hormonal structure did not change. When I became a teenager, I grew breasts (a bona fide matching set), just like a normal girl. Well, I grew them a lot later than most, but I was really skinny then.

This rant is mostly meant in good fun, but it does bother me that women's groups and marketing peeps always fall back on softfluffycompletelynonthreatening peeeeeeeeennk. It's just lazy; there are only a hundred thousand other colors available, if you'll take thirty seconds of your time to actually think. Women are not the Borg. We like variety. No, really! I swear.

My second bike was a lovely gender-neutral yellow (no bar this time), and it was my mother, not my father, who taught me to ride it on two wheels. Such rebels, my parents. Clearly the apple didn't fall far from the tree.