Wednesday, February 16, 2011

My Hate/Hate Relationship with Yellow

Few things make me angrier faster than bright yellow. It's been that way for as long as I can remember. For a long time, it was a secret I tried desperately to keep to myself. I knew it seemed irrational. I was ashamed of my want to kick things and fling the offending bread bag/banana/dish sponge/sports car/cute little goldfinch wildly across my path. I remained quiet. Inside, however, I was miserable. Few people could understand my torment, or so I thought.

It wasn't just that the color itself when placed within 6 feet of my person caused my skin to reflect a pea soup hue, it wasn't that typically only cheap sugary salty frightening deathtrap foods were typically encased in yellow.

It was some intrinsic primal serious thingie.

(Yellow -but only for Halloween. I could never sustain this in real life. The inner rage would be overwhelming.)

A few years ago while reading on a roadtrip to Key West, I found that I was not alone. The main character of Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, a fifteen year-old named Christopher forecasts the happiness of his days through colors.
He watches cars.
Four red cars in a row mean it will be a most wonderful day, while four yellow cars mean a bad day, in which case he does not eat lunch and will not speak.

This morning, getting into the car with my fiance, I looked over and he had placed a shiny new package of disposable lemon-scented cleaning wipes on the center console. I am most certain that it is no small coincidence that I forgot my newly poured cup of french vanilla coffee on the way out and accidentally wore the sweater with a hole in it today.

I know I should try to change my open-minded and whatnot. I'm sure there are lots of lovely *gulp* yellow things in the world. Maybe. Are there?

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