indessed roscivs

The elevator in my building has a little news-screen that gives you tidbits of today’s news, the time and weather, some stock prices, etc. Today on the way home, it told me, “Studies show that blue is by far the favorite color of both men and women, with girls preferring a redder shade of blue, and men preferring a greener shade.”

The headline? “Girls Like Pink”.

Wait, huh? I thought you just said that girls like blue just like boys do. I guess with a bit of fudging you could say girls like red and boys like green—but pink?

But sure enough, everyone is touting this as the study that shows that “Girls Like Pink”. The London Telegraph, for instance, has the headline, “Girls really do prefer pink, study shows”. The article starts out:

Girls really do prefer pink—or at least a redder shade of blue—and boys prefer blue, according to research that shows that men and women see the world differently.

It continues with such outlandish statements as, “A love of salmon, fuschia and coral does seem to be hard-wired into females,” its evolutionary claims apparently supported only by the fact that both Chinese and British subjects were used in the study (which was basically a colored-squares version of kittenwar). And again, I might remind you, blues were the most commonly chosen colors in this study, not “salmon, fuschia, and coral”.

Other popular headlines include, “Pink for a girl and blue for a boy—and it’s all down to evolution” (from The Guardian), “Women may be hardwired to prefer pink” (from New Scientist), “Division of sexes is colour coded” (from The Australian), “Why Girls Prefer Pink” (from CBS), and “Women Hardwired to Like Pink, Study Suggests” (from Live Science).

Oh well. I like Pink too. Who knew?

Here I was, at work, being embraced (rather awkwardly) by a young, single female coworker, wondering how I ever got myself into this mess. As everyone knows, even platonic relationships between a married man and a female coworker are a very bad idea. Anything that even hints of non-platonicity is a recipe for disaster.

I wasn’t remotely attracted to this particular coworker. (In fact, disagreeing with my coworkers about her alleged good looks led to my ridicule.) But she, apparently, was attracted to me. Not only did she invite me to tea (I was expecting to sit down with a few of her coworkers and chat about work—not sit down one on one and chat about life in general), but she also dropped little “hints” here and there. Normally I’m pretty thick when it comes to women (or men) hitting on me—typically my wife has to point it out to me, and even then I’m mostly oblivious. But Rachel’s comments (about how much she loves the “geeky” type, about how her last few boyfriends were all phsyicists, or a demure “why don’t you walk me back to my cubicle?” after tea) seemed a little much.

And yet still, after walking her back to her cubicle after tea, saying “cheers” and being unexpectedly met by a good-bye hug (awkward to say the least), I still wasn’t sure what was up. Or, as DW would say, I was oblivious. At the first sign of any mildly flirtatious behavior, I had started making refereneces to “my wife,” just in case she hadn’t seen the ring. Several references later her demeanor hadn’t changed, so I wasn’t sure if she was deaf, just naturally friendly, or a psychopath. “Maybe she’s just extra-friendly?” I thought.

A week later at the company party, I had my answer. I saw Rachel nearly instantly; her face lit up when she saw me, then fell instantly as she saw my beautiful wife at my side. Her expression soured into what I can only describe as, “How dare you have a gorgeous wife!” Immediately I knew that her friendliness toward me hadn’t been the platonic work friendship I had foolishly taken it for. But what can I say? I’m not accustomed to being hit on by strange women.

Turns out I wasn’t the only person at the company to be subject to unwanted attention from this particular lady. Her cubemate, a devout homosexual, had allegedly encountered some “inappropriate touching” from her wandering hands. One of my coworkers had been “stalked” by her to the degree that he told me, “If she and I went into a dark alley alone, only one of us would come out alive.”

I enjoyed our tea and our chats, but I dare say—women beware: if you plan to hit on me, all you’ll encounter is an oblivious, friendly, happily-married man.