That flash of fire-engine red – always the red – how she found the same shade, year after year, I do not know. Iconic? Perhaps. How she got her mother to agree to it when she was so young is a mystery to me. Oh, yeah – it suited her – anyone could see that – and you could tell she knew it. I imagine she planned her outfits around it – heck, even her cars were that colour - her front door. Boy, was she a traffic-stopper alright, that flash of red and she fair caught one’s attention. She must have had a special supplier. I mean, everything changes – I can’t even use the same face cream for a more than a year, before they change the ‘recipe’ – drives me crazy, just when you find something you like, poof – it is no more. How many would you need – surely it can’t have been the same one all these years? Maybe she stocked up – a life time supply – but where would she keep fifty-nine years of false eyeballs?