I've always hated the color yellow. I don't even like the way the word sounds (marshmallow either, nor mellow, though cello has the crisp beginning to redeem itself) but this here's a nice, solid yellow and I was surprised to be unrepulsed by this thing surrounded by the ivy so I took its picture. It's brighter in real life and in my camera. (You pain me, Blogger. Start packing.)
My yellow hatred problem is more about that harvest gold crap like my mom used to have (sorry mom!). It was trendy back in the day, and I know there are people who dig it still though I can't be friends with any of them. She had a bathroom set (shag rugs, hamper) which inspired me to tell her I felt yellow anytime I had to hurk. She also had a fridge. I'm not clear whether it was due to some subconscious hatred in me for that hue, but I forever bleached an odd drippy stain on the front of it by trying to "help" clean it with Lime-Away when I was a kid. Poor mom, she couldn't have nice things when I was loose in the house.
The yellow issue is compounded by the fact that I don't like pastels. They look like lies to me. (J is shaking his head and chuckling nervously.) Seriously, anything that non-commital has something wrong with it. There are pale shades of things that get by alright, but the true pastels- baby blue, pink... peach! for the love of my retinas, peach and yellow should be illegal. Especially yellow.
We will always find out the sex of our future babies (IF AND WHEN) in plenty of time for you to buy stuff that is not the color of hurking, should you feel so inclined.
In summary, yellow bad. Hydrant goood.
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