Pink, everywhere I look there is more pink

I can't help myself. I must comment again on the pink. If I leave my house to go almost anywhere, I see piles of pink. Last night, Brandon and I went to one of the central Ohio shopping districts. At the big box pet store, I found this pile of pink packaged cat food (see photographic proof). I almost screamed in rage. Cat food! Where will it end?

Whenever I see the displays of pink products, I feel perfectly justified in proclaiming, quite loudly, my disgust at the evils of pink marketing. At another big box store, I found, by the registers, pink Hanes underwear (with a note about continuing to refill the display through the entire month of October), pink Pepperidge Farm cookie bags, and pink Peppermint Patties. My rage continues, and there is no end in sight.

Maybe if I were further along in my psychological recovery, I would be fine with the Komen pink marketing campaign. But at this juncture, I am not mentally stable, and I am very fine with not being fine. When I am in these stores, its almost as if I want someone to say something to me. Maybe if I can release my breast cancer rage on some unsuspecting and innocent shopper, I'll feel better about myself.

I have already imagined the scenario. While in the grocery store, I am asking why must every brand name product be repackaged in the color pink. My voice is louder than normal. An older woman (age 55ish), who has never been diagnosed with breast cancer, will respond to my rhetorical query. Our conversation will go a little like this:

Her:"Honey, don't you know? October is breast cancer awareness month."
Me: "Of course, I know what month it is."
Her: "You should have more respect. Breast cancer is a disease that can affect all women."
Me: "Oh, I know. I know all too well. Less than 2 months ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and last month, I lost one of my breasts."

After my last comment, the interaction would quickly devolve into me screaming obscenities and asking if she'd like to see my scars. Brandon or the store manager would need to step in and pull me away. The entire interaction would be no more than a couple of minutes, but I imagine it would be cathartic.

The odds of this imaginary scenario happening are quite slim as I will not be spending much time between now and the end of October in the big box stores. I've got a wedding to prepare for. And after the wedding, I'll be in the islands. Depending on the results of the presidential election, I may just remain in the islands.