BLACK AND BLUE

By Marion Kelley Bullock

No, I’m not talking about bruises. My husband doesn’t beat me. But today he let me down in a more subtle way.

“How would you like to go to Big Spring and eat at Al’s Barbeque?” He stood behind my computer chair and tempted me. I bit. I usually do. I’m a glutton for quitting my work to go out to lunch or whatever excitement he conjures up.

I hurried to my closet and changed into a pair of pants and my two-shades-of-green and black Hawaiian big shirt. I thought it would look much better than my everyday shorts and tee. I grabbed my makeup kit and we hurried to the car.

After I donned my two-minute-makeup (eyeliner, cover stick, and lipstick), we talked a while and then I settled back to relax. I moved the makeup kit off my lap onto the floor. As I looked down at my lap, I screeched.

“What’s wrong?” My husband swerved, narrowly missing an oncoming car.

“My pants are navy!”

“So?”

Obviously, he failed to see the relevance. I hurried to tell him where he’d gone wrong. “You didn’t stop me from wearing navy pants with a green and black shirt. You know I’m practically colorblind!”

“I didn’t notice.” He said it with a straight face. “Besides, you look fine.”
I thought about going back home to change, but we were nearly there and my taste buds won out. “Let’s just eat instead of dropping by Wal-Mart as we usually do. Okay?”

He agreed.

Hmmmm. Did I detect a smug look on his face? Did he purposely refrain from telling me I’d made another color blunder, so I’d resist yet another shopping spree? It didn’t bear thinking about.

At Al’s, the lights were dim, the food was delicious, and I didn’t see anyone I knew.

Home again, I took off the mismatched clothes, labeled my pants “navy” inside the waistband. My Sharpie writes big and bold.

Next time I’ll know.