You know I love
purple. I have a couple of purple shirts, ranging in color from Concord grape
to light lavender, with several shades in between. A long time ago I bought a lavender
enamel star to wear on my lapel, and I told people it was a symbol for gay rights
(this was before we had any kind of established symbols, so you could tell people
anything and they’d believe you).
But never before did I have a pair of purple socks (see above).
They’re pale lilac, with little nubs. Naturally they’re Italian.
Story: there’s a nice little men’s-clothing shop in our
neighborhood called Milan.
The clothes are beautiful, but they are far too highly-priced for my
dollar-store lifestyle. Though their window I could see a lovely display of
socks: lemon-yellow, pale lime-green, pale lilac. I have admired them out
loud to Partner many times.
The other night Partner surprised me with a pair of lovely purple
socks. He pretended that our little stuffed dog Blot Malloy bought them for me.
This is Blot:
I ask you, does he look like he has the money to buy Italian
socks?
Partner finally confessed that he’d bought them for me. I asked them how much they cost, and he
wouldn’t tell me. “I’ll admit,” he said, “that they were more expensive than
any socks I ever bought before.”
I wore them to work the very next day, in combination with
black pants and a pale-lavender shirt. I showed them to a number of people, and
they were dazzled. One even said: “And look! You’re wearing a purple shirt too!”
To which I replied: “Did you think that was a coincidence?”
No comments:
Post a Comment