Even though I was finding it very comfortable in my blagreigebrown world, I loved seeing everyone else in color. I admired the confidence of women who would wear a red gown. Even though I am not a green person, I was secretly envious of women who could wear it. It made me blue to see women wearing blue, which, in my closet, would only appear in the form of jeans and the occasional navy sweater. I was wearing black but I was tangled up in the blues.
Black has its virtues though. Black, as we all know, is chic. It is classic. It is safe. It is easy. It always looks clean. It is slimming. It goes with everything. It is easily identifiable. No one ever asks, "Hey, what do you call that color". There are no confusing euphemisms for it as there are for, say, maroon, as in aubergine or eggplant, or melitzana, which is Greek for aubergine. And how did aubergine get into the English lexicon anyway?
While we are on the subject of black, let me give a shout out to white. White reflects light and can be bleached. That's all I have to say about white. As far as I'm concerned, white has no virtues. It is not good. Anyone who wears white is far too confident for my tastes. That person, with their bright, bleached, toothy grin, is shouting, "Ha! I mock you and your fear of dirt. Fie on stains! I look so perfect in white that I need not eat, drink nor be merry! I will starve to achieve this look of perfection!" Yes, starve. Because there is not a woman alive who will put on a pair of white pants and think her butt looks damn good in them. There will always be the fear that when you're checking your rear end out you will see a sticker on the 3 way mirror that says, "Caution: items in this mirror are larger than they appear."