Coming to Grips with Jewel Tones

Venturing out of sweat pants, I finally put clothes on – jeans that used to fit comfortably, but are now the very model of modern fashion: tight, tight, tight and a sweater long enough to cover the top of my back end, sort of.  My son and I made our way to play group. 

I usually take compliments in stride: “Oh, I know.  Good for you for noticing.”  But when Evelyn said, “Polly, you look great in purple,” I didn’t react well.

I try not to think about purple. 

For her first child, my dear, dear mother put her degree in fashion merchandizing and a love of corduroy to use and created, what you might call, a professional wardrobe for a kindergartner.  It entailed purple corduroy pants, skirt, knickers, vest, and a two button jacket.  The shirts: striped and plaid violet in various shades and tones.  During this time, I answered to “Polly Purple”. 

I’ve avoided the thought of purple ever since.  I can wear it. I just can’t acknowledge that I’m wearing it.

Evelyn had no idea a simple compliment would dig up past hue horrors.  Not many people have Post Traumatic Color Syndrome.

She grinned.  She said, “Sounds like you’re coming to grips with purple.” 

“Wacka. Wacka,” I said.

Thanks, Evelyn, for forcing me to face my fear.  I am at this very moment looking down at my purple sweater.  I have to admit, you’re right, it looks great.  They didn’t call me Polly Purple for nothing!  Good for you for noticing.