I stare at my reflection in the mirror, glaring almost, at the unruly curls that refuse to go along with the general flow of things. But my eye power isn’t strong enough to tame the wild strands so I have to live with them for the day—which, given the circumstances, is one of the worst possible days to be inflicted with such a condition ever, because I’m about to leave my little cosy room for the big, scary corporation called PINK to interview the Princess of PINK, Ms Tiffany Pink.

PINK, according to Sunny, my housemate (who is the reason why I have to leave the comfort of my bed), is a mega-corp-Empire-State-Building-Eiffel-Tower-Mount-Everest giant of the fashion world. Whatever PINK makes, sells, apparently. Right down to the last weirdest odd size available on the rack. It’s a world-wide phenomenon and word has it that some government bodies are beginning to worry about the mental state of consumers of PINK.

Well, for one, staring at large amounts of pink for substantial amounts of time is one of the leading causes of headaches and migraines. In some cases, it even induces nausea and that leads to vomiting. But die-hard-loyal-to-the-last-shade-of-PINK fans are adamant on wearing PINK designs all day, every day, leading to talk that PINK is about to take over the world.

But it wasn’t always like that. PINK was viewed as the reclamation of sanity, the rebirth of true fashion in this world, at first. PINK was viewed as the saviour of the fashion world because it rescued everybody from the dull clutches of GREY. PINK came and brought colour into everybody’s life again, whisking them away from the doomed pits of dull GREY.

Yes, the person I am to interview is Ms Pink, the owner of such a corporation. Technically, she is the CEO but according to Sunny, she rejects the title of CEO and insists on the title of Princess. She is the imagination behind the designs and the juice behind the creativity. And despite her obscene wealth and unbelievable reach (even the Queen of England wears PINK), she is only moderately strange in demeanour. For an artist and designer of her talent and gift, she is strangely ‘normal’.

Still staring at my reflection in the mirror, I pout at the thought of how I was cornered into doing this for her…

“Please, Taengoo, help me. Pleaseee…”

“Urgh, but I want to sleep some more…”

“You know that I wouldn’t miss this interview for the world but there’s no way I can do it with my nose dripping like a broken tap. Not to mention, the fact that my cold is probably highly contagious.”

“Yet, you have no reservations in coming this close and risk spreading it to me.”

“Do you know how hard it is to arrange an interview with Ms Pink herself? Do you know how many people would die to be in your place right now?”

“I don’t care if a million people would die to be in my place. My place right now is on this bed.”

Those are the final words I get to utter in the comfort of my bed because the covers are yanked off, very rudely, might I add, and my not-that-light housemate jumps onto my bed and lies over me.

“I’m gonna pass my germs to you if you don’t get your lazy out of bed right now.”

The last thing I want is a case of the cold so I sit up right away, pushing her away from me. “Okay, you win. I’ll do it.”

My housemate raises her arms in victory. “This is the moment, we’ll remember every day for the rest of our lives,” she sings in the highest pitch of her high-pitched voice. “You’re a winner, I’m a winner, this is all happening so fast, you’re a winner, I’m a winner, enjoy it while it lasts…”

The sound of a door slamming shut jolts me from my recollection and saves me from Sunny’s victory song. Just the thought of her high-pitched-cartoon-character voice is enough to send a chill down my spine so I do a little wiggle to shake it off. “Shake it off, shake it off!” I burst into song and wiggle my bottom as I walk out to the tiny space we call a living room.

“Remember to ask the questions from the list I gave you, okay?” Sunny chirps from the doorway of her room.

I nod with a smile and toss a wave goodbye. “Wish me luck!”

X

A thirty minute drive later, I arrive at the glittering gateway of PINK. A sculpture of a dog stands on each side of the hot pink wrought iron gate and upon closer inspection, I determine it to be a Maltese. So this must be Prince Fluffy. He certainly looks fluffy, but what a weird name for a male dog. What kind of owner would name her male dog Fluffy. Geez. Driving past the intricate design of flowers on the gates and down the smooth driveway to the foyer, I realize I didn’t have to worry about finding the building at all. To say that it is easy to spot is an understatement.

The entire building, designed like a stiletto, is tiled in shimmering titanium pink from top to bottom. The tall tower that is the ‘stiletto heel’, rises into the air, majestic and proud. Down front, which is the pointed tip of the ‘stiletto’, is the lobby. It is here that I stop and get out from my car, and hand my keys over to the valet. A doorman in a pink velvety coat and hat stands before me, smiling, but opulence of the entrance renders my jaw loose and useless. Larger-than-life diamonds jut out above the wide revolving door, glittering in the sun, and stepping past that brings me into the lobby where pink-black slabs of marble guide my eyes up towards the sloping glass ceiling overhead.

“Wow…”