The man came to dinner, where we were three women, with our arms full of bouquets of roses. He gave one a red one, the other a white one, and me a pink bouquet. And something happened to me: I spoke more quietly, my face was inconspicuous (in the end, noticeable) and I was proud. Why didn't I realize then that pink has miraculous powers: to turn a woman into a woman, a mother into a mother, a scared single girl into a cheerful young lady. I know it now. I know... I'm pink. And it's my birthday.

And on my birthday, for the first time in forty-two years, I put on my new pink apron early in the morning. My, in my opinion, beautiful apron, just pulled over my head.
I hid myself inside it and the miracle came like that time with the pug: I wanted to laugh, or at least smile, caress, sing and cook, bake, decorate, see how others liked it. And they praised me... that's not every day.
It's the pink color that I somehow pulled out of the closet and now I've put back on my apron. It was sent to me by the stars, spring, or the joy of being born a woman... I'm still amazed by it and I'm slipping into pathos or perhaps inexplicable events, but it happened.

Pink didn't bother me at all when I started unpacking tons of chocolate for my birthday cake, which could only be thick chocolate. I didn't even take off my new pink apron while carrying the cake, like I do with other aprons at home when I go to the table after cooking.
My great-grandmother used to change her aprons: she had all sorts of ordinary ones for cooking, and she tied a white, embroidered apron for serving – about once a year. I have her holiday one hidden in an old cupboard at the cottage, and a whole collection of aprons to go with it. There are a few men's ones, but no man in our family has ever worn an apron. At most, she tucks a tea towel behind her waist. And I'm happy.
The man in the apron is a professional chef and I can't tell anything about his masculinity through the apron. The man in the pink apron is not a man. He really isn't. The pink apron is feminine. Totally, tenderly, sweetly. uniquely feminine. After my birthday, I went to bed in it. So that the miracle would stay with me even after my birthday night.