A few weeks ago, I casually mentioned I'd bought a jumper on Ebay that looked khaki but when it came, it was tangerine. I was mistaken. It isn't tangerine; it is marigold. I set it aside to deal with at a later date.
That evening, I mentioned to Joe, rather tentatively (this is the man who likes white oxford cloth button-down shirts, and blue and every now and again a blue and white stripe if he's feeling really frisky) that this misunderstanding had occurred. He said he'd seen the jumper and he liked it. Could have knocked me over with a petal.
I would never have bought a garment this color. When we all had our colors done years and years ago, I was deemed to be a Summer and have never wavered from that palatte since. Those teals, mauves, periwinkles, chocolates, I love all of those colors. But there I was with a marigold jumper that Himself actually admired.
Yesterday I shortened it and today I wear it. I keep seeing it when I glance down.
I've always liked marigolds. I like their color and their fragrance and their longevity. I have fond memories of wonderful gravelly voiced Senator Everett Dirksen wanting to make them the National Flower.
Today I look like one. Wonder how that will impact my day!