Pensive Pink

This semester, we read The Yellow Wallpaper by American writer Charlotte Perkins Gilman, about a woman's descent into madness at the hand of her doctor-husband's ridiculous "rest cure." 

I began to wonder... under what circumstances could the tables be reversed?  When could a man be stuck in one place for a long time, pondering his wife?

I briefly thought about the Stephen King classic, Misery.  I think Charlotte Perkins Gilmore would like it!  It's definitely an example of a man being trapped in a room, and some creepy mental disorders!  I'm not much for creepy writing, though.  I am in a creative writing class this semester, so I don't just want to write... I also feel compelled... in a good way.  (Little disclaimer: this homework will appear in both classes.  Sorry if you're in my other class and have to read it twice!).  I like that I'm surrounding myself with great literature while I'm also working on my writing technique.

I liked pondering The Yellow Wallpaper, but I wanted to write something a little more lighthearted.  In my weird mind, prostate cancer isn't more lighthearted than mental illness, but I hope that you still find some humor in this.

So, trying to move away from the creepy wallpaper, and transcending gender lines without descending into foot-chopping-madness... I give you...

Pensive Pink.

I can’t believe I let my wife paint the bathroom pink.  Before I retired, I was never here, so I didn’t care.  She seemed happy to spend plenty of money on whatever it was she wanted the house to look like, and she was the one here, in here all the time with that whole little city of bottles all over the counter, so who cared, right? 
Now I’m here all the time, and I notice stuff.  Like a Raggedy Ann doll on a shelf.  What’s the point of that?  Was it the kid's toy, or just something she would think was pretty?    

And why this pink?  Why not Pepto Bismol pink or baby shower pink or thirteen year old daughter's ridiculous looking "But Daddy all my friends are wearing it" hot pink lipstick pink? 

And how long did she shop to make sure the pink of the candle matched the pink of the walls?  Which one did she buy first?  And why should a bathroom smell like roses anyway?  Is it to match this picture?  And let me just say, a man would never put a picture over the toilet, let alone a picture of some big ol’ field of flowers.  Am I supposed to feel like I’m peeing in the field? Or did she just never think about the fact that I have to stand up in here?  

Now I have time to think about all this stuff she did, and even more time to stand here thinking about it because it takes longer to finish.  I end up trying to talk the pee out, like the words I say are going to make the stream flow freely.  I don’t want to talk to my prostate, I want to talk to my wife.  

It’s too late now.   If I could talk to twenty year old me, I would say, “Take better care of your body, because some day you won’t take peeing for granted.  And while you’re at it, don’t take your wife for granted either,  because for some reason you still won’t understand, you’ll really, truly, want to understand why the bathroom is pink.”