I’m a man. And I live in a pink palace. But what should I expect? I share my space with four girls.
Sure, I’ve done some manly things in my time. But things are different now. I play with dolls. I go to tea parties. I watch “The Bachelor”—on the edge of my seat. I basically live and breathe pink.
A few days ago, the pink finally got to me. I felt like I was drowning in Barbies and babies and perfumes and pigtails and tutus and teacups. I had to get away. I had to expend some long-pent-up man-ergy. So, I went out to do something manly. I could hardly contain my excitement. There were so many possibilities! Like choppin’ wood or shootin’ guns or cliff diving.
How did I spend my man break? I went to our local coffee shop, ordered a medium iced coffee with cream, and sipped on it as I sunk into a plush chair. There’s something seriously wrong with that. I guess I’ve been pinkified so long that I’ve forgotten how to be manly.
But I was a man once and a darned good one. So know this: next time I get a break, I’m bringing manly back. Next time, I’ll drink my coffee black.