The green and orange dinosaur silhouettes from a puzzle acquired at Christmas have a similar fate. Outta here. Purple Tyrannosaurus rex is ok. The blue one with the long neck, no problem. The yellow, ah, well, ask Papa what that yellow one is called. He's ok, too.
The set of oversized cardboard blocks - red, blue, green, and orange - guess who gets to play with the green and orange ones?
My mother hates orange, too. She spends two days a week with Beren. One of those days she spends at our house. She plays with orange blocks while Beren covets the blue and red.
Sometimes when Jared and I are looking for something to talk about, something other than our new business or our son, Jared will ask, "What's your favorite color?"
"Umm, purple," I usually respond. We agree that there are a couple ugly colors - hunter green, that teal color that some manufacturer in the 90's painted compact cars.
For years it contained all of my prints, negatives, and film. Before my son was born, we crushed the cabinet and sent it to the dump, worrying it might be painted with lead paint.
My prints, negatives, and increasingly outdated film is now kept in the pine dresser I used as a girl.
For while it was seafoam green. He'd search Ebay using the terms "seafoam green". Once he found a beautiful Depression era glass ceiling light cover. Twenty bucks. I felt guilty. The seller didn't mention anything a collector might search for. If he had, we'd have easily been out-bid.
My mother tells me regretfully about a yard sale my grandparents or great grandparents had during which they sold all their Depression era glass to one woman. A woman who knew what they were. It's hard not to consider her a bit of a vampire.
Somewhere in the midst of my very long and very varied Curriculum Vitae, I worked at a used bookstore. I seriously undervalued a very valuable book. Twenty bucks I marked it, probably worth $500. Someone bought it. Boy, I felt stupid.