Easter baskets and the masculine ego

I guess guys develop that sense of masculinity at an early age--no I'm not going into a discussion of what our culture teaches boys vs. girls. Just a story about an Easter basket. A little after eight this morning, Jordan called in frantic mode. She'd forgotten to send Jacob's Easter basket with him. Did I have a stray one around the house (what grandmother doesn't?) and would I take it across the street to the school? I found it and called back. "It's pink. He isn't going to like that." (Actually it was kind of lilac.) She said it would have to do. In truth I didn't feel well this morning--I'd been awake since 2:30 with a deep, thick cough and I was mostly suffering from lack of sleep. But I got myself stirring and dutifully went across the street, Easter basket in hand, dreading handing it to Jacob. (I'd tried to pass the job off on Elizabeth when we met in the driveway but she declined.) In the school, I could see the kids all out in a courtyard two levels below me, and I had no idea how to get there. Fortunately a young mom came along--she turned out to be someone I'd known as a child, and she promised to deliver it, even with my warning about it being pink. Mission accomplished, I went on my way.
When I picked Jacob up at school, he had his Easter goodies in a plastic bag, looking like a poor, neglected kid whose parents didn't care. I asked the teacher if she got the basket, and she said it was still on her desk. Jacob said he'd never seen it, didn't know who it belonged to, wouldn't carry it. It was the pink that did it.
By then, I'd had a good two-hour nap and felt some better, but as soon as Jacob's mom picked him up, I was back in bed. Hoping to sleep soundsly tonight.