Tiptoe Past Bubblegum Faerie

We tiptoe past her, the violets said. She does not like our colors. They are every hue of violet, purple, and a few are azure blue. But you are beautiful, I assure them. They scoff at my innocence. You are naïve’ they tell me, but we like you anyway. She would transmogrify us into pink tulips or Pepto Bismol roses. I laugh at the thought, realizing I have never seen violets like that. We kid you not, they tell me. When you meet her, do not make eye contact. How can I meet her without it? I ask. They have no answer, for they are posies, not politicians. They want to be cagey and maniacal, but what flowers are? I tiptoe past them over the hill where Bubblegum Queen waits. She is devouring petals from a rose bush when I arrive. Who do you think you are? She asks me with an air of rudeness. I am shocked, because I was about to comment on her beauty. She has pink hair, pink skin, pink lips, and beautiful blue eyes. But her manner is cold and heartless with a twang of meanness. Suddenly I remember that outside beauty means nothing. Weird that I have to relearn this lesson almost every time. I guess society has done a job on me with their glossy magazines. I am nobody I tell her. She gives me an arrogant half nod.