In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Out of Your Reach.”There it was in the old reliable Sears Christmas Wish Book, that sacred text of holiday cheer. I saw The Head of the Pink Lady, complete with waxy makeup stix and a Big Pink Bow in her molded, yellow hair. I wanted it immediately. At age seven, I wanted to buy into that Chanel-scented, blood-red lipstick-y sorority that flashed by me on television. I glimpsed it on the covers of my older sister’s magazines, shining so bright. Mom said “no” to the Head, and that was it. No discussion, no fuss, no response wanted or needed from the young. When a child had a tantrum in a supermarket, I shook my head and said to myself, “infantile.”
I haven’t yet cruised internet sites for the Head of the Pink Lady (new in box, only, please), but our grand-niece had a Pink Lady pool that was crushed by my husband when he stumbled on it in their yard, years ago. Those electric-Pink products are seared into our memories, us former girl-ettes. So, I’m hunting for the Pool of the Pink Lady now. It won’t have lipstick and false eyelashes, but it will fill that hole in my little-girl soul with cool, clear, blue water. And we’ll all have a great big laugh about those days, long ago.