He has totally redeemed himself though. That man now makes the best damn paper snowflakes ever.

When I met Mark, all of his clothes we black. But really, one can only handle so much black in their life (me), so now instead of having a depressingly drab wardrobe, we have come up with a creative system for naming and identifying his clothes.

First and foremost, all of his dress pants must mix and match with every single dress shirt that he owns because there might be a morning that I am not awake to tell him that he shouldn’t leave the house looking like a colourful clown.

And secondly, because it was my bright idea that he should add a little colour in his life, it also became my responsibility to know that when he asks for his tough guy shirt, it means he is looking for an army green t-shirt. Which is entirely different than his cool guy shirt, which is blue. But he thinks it’s gray.

I do use his reliance on my colour judgement to my advantage however, because he looks really good in shades of blue, especially powder blue, which he would be mortified to wear. So I just tell him that it’s a manly shade of light gray.

Anyhow, he was looking for the BBQ lighter the other day and I told him to look in the blue box. He looked at me like I had just asked him what the square root of pi was because he didn't know we had a blue box. And I could see him trying to rack his brain to remember if he was supposed to be organizing different stuff in a different box because the only box he knew about was light gray.

And then it occurred to me that the box is exactly the same colour as his pretty powder blue shirt and that maybe part of his colour blindness is all my fault.

Labels: Mark