I'm wondering where I should put the gifts he gave me. I might put the Pla-Doh on my vanity table; perhaps the rubber frogs could be displayed on my dresser.

February 13, 1993 (junior at Harvard)

Dear Diary,

Last night I was at one of those charming little Dunster galas. So was he--the gentleman I met last week at Adams House. But he'd had too much punch and was acting silly.

Boys are yucky.

Molly B. Confer '94 is magazine editor of The Crimson. We asked her to write because she's funny.

*

Joanna M. Weiss

There's something wrong with the color pink. You can't walk into a card store these days without stepping into pink paradise. Pink is the color of chalky heart candies, valentine envelopes and stuffed bunnies.

I can find pink in the drugstore, too. Pink is the color of Pepto-Bismol.

My room at home is pink. Pink bedspread, pink pillows, pink ruffled curtains. Tiny pink flowers all over the wallpaper. When I was in sixth grade and moving into a new house, I thought a pink room might be nice. In seventh grade, I reconsidered. But it was already too late.

I had been deluded, I guess. In sixth grade, the boys and girls suddenly stopped wielding invisible cans of "germ spray" and started to dance--arms outstretched and planted tentatively on the other's shoulders--in the multi-purpose room. At that point, I decided it was important to live pink.

What I forgot, in my brief shock of discovery, was that I'd never been a big fan of the color before. It wasn't that I was a tomboy--I was too wimpy for that. And it's not that I didn't do my share of pink activities, playing with Barbie dolls and with pink games like Candyland.

But the pink stuff paled in comparison to the Lincoln Logs, the Tinkertoys and the Bristle Blocks. They were primary colors. And you could build things with them.

Valentine's Day is supposed to be red. But sometimes it turns out pink. Red is the color of gender-neutral, deep-felt energy and excitement. Pink is the color of saccharine sweet forced-feminine girl stuff. Pink is the color of mush.

Not to knock mush. Mush in small doses can be very nice. But mush-for-the-sake-of-mush can get a little absurd. Mush isn't exciting; it's squishy and fake, and it makes me a little uncomfortable. Most importantly, you can't build anything with mush.

Like pink cotton candy, mush disappears as soon as it's touched. Flowers wither, candies mold. Far better to reach for the red. Forego the sugar coating. Try for substance.

Otherwise, you might be blue.

Joanna M. Weiss '94 is editorial chair of The Crimson. She gets to write because she's the editor.