When I was six years old my mother forced me into a pink dress for Easter. Even then I knew how absolutely hideous pink is. I hated every second of it, and I wish that I'd forget about it.
It started on Easter. It was painfully sunny and hot, which was unusual for that time of year. The dress my mother stuffed me in was ugly and uncomfortable. It was a pale pink, tight around the shoulders, itchy, and had stiff lace around the collar. Not to mention the tights, because I hate tights.
Everyone cooed over how cute I was while I suffered in silence. The tights kept riding up, and the dress made me unbearably hot. It was the worst Easter ever.
Since then I have had worse memories, but I think they have made me a better person in general, so I don't want to forget them. On the other hand what value does a memory of pink dresses and itchy tights have?
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