Pistachio Toes

PROMPT: In her blog, my friend Betty wrote, "[w]e look at colors every day, and yet, we don't really see them." Where or how do you see color?

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I jinxed myself yesterday.

"I haven't been sick all year," I bragged to my friend Caryl as we exchanged theories about developing immunity to germs--school germs, kid germs and baby germs.

Then I proceeded through the rest of my night in usual fashion, crawling into bed at 11:30, lying there, staring through my eyelids at the ceiling I knew hovered over me. An hour or so ticked past, while my mind wandered and twisted down whatever trails unfolded in my imagination, and occasionally, I retrieved my phone so I could enter reminders and send last minute emails.

At some point, the real world slipped away, returning again at 6 am with a blaring alarm. Slothfully spinning in the sheets, I flung my hand across my body to stop the auditory insanity erupting in my otherwise silent room. When I tried to open my eyes to see reminders, and emails, I discovered a crusting of goo sealed them nearly the whole way across. As awareness slowly seeped back, I also discovered a runny nose, a sore throat and a pounding headache.

Flopping onto the floor, I trudged to the bathroom and did what any sinus infection hater would--I netti potted.

The rooms were all dark, and despite the fact I generally wear black muted colors every day, I felt even darker than usual. Deep brown coffee puffed in my face, while khaki colored granola lumped on top of my yogurt--white yogurt abrasively peeking through through the flakes in an oddly satisfying way. I devoured my treasures, then moped into my room and decided to embrace color. Digging, delving, dredging through layers of black cotton, wool and polyester, I finally found pistachio colored socks--fuzzy, inviting and cheery, everything I failed to feel in that moment.

I gazed at them all day long, occasionally laughing at the absurdity of wearing a bright color I didn't repeat anywhere else in my outfit. Though they didn't sway my grayness for more than a moment, on a few occasions, they provoked a smile that would have never crept across my face.

It's funny that Betty wrote about color on a day when I subconsciously turned to it. When my allergy medicine, netti pot, coffee and warm shower could not do the trick, I ambled to my drawer and waged all of my chips on socks--bright, green pistachio colored socks, socks that warmed a bit more than just my toes.