It’s Not Easy Being Beige

I remember when my underwear was all beige. All of it. Every pair of panties, every bra, every slip, every everything. Beige. Not ecru. Not cream. Not eggshell. Not taupe. Beige. Plain beige. Ordinary beige. Beige beige. Getting dressed was easy. Mindless. Effortless. Beige goes with everything. Beige goes under everything. Beige was easy. Beige was simple, uncomplicated, undemanding, unobtrusive, unnoticed.

I remember when my walls were all beige. All of them. Every bedroom, every bathroom, the living room, the den, the closets, the office, everywhere everything. Sheets were beige. Towels were beige. The paper towels were beige. The napkins were beige. Even the dishes were beige. Beige went with everything. I could bring a color into it and pretend it wasn’t beige, but it was still beige. .

I remember when my life was all beige. All of it. Every act, every relationship, every contact, every event, every everything. Beige. Cooking breakfast was easy. Making dinner was mindless. I went everywhere, with everything and I simply ‘fit in’. I didn’t call attention. I didn’t demand. I didn’t notice. I wasn’t noticed. I was beige.

But then I noticed something. I wasn’t just beige. I was transparent. If you looked really hard, you could see me, but you had to look. Really look. Busy life. Who has time for looking? Beige turned transparent. Transparent started to disappear. And for one brief moment, I’m not quite sure I was really there at all. Gone. Poof. Here today, gone tomorrow. Or not. When you can’t see it, how do you know it was every really there at all?

One tiny thread remained. A link. A connection. A fusion that refused to break and brought non-existent back to transparent back to beige. And for one moment, beige was a good thing.

I hate doing laundry. It’s not as easy as it used to be. But, it has its moments, one bright shiny moment. Well, maybe more than one. There is that moment when I stand in the middle of this room with the dark green walls and sort colors that have to be separated before heading down to the basement laundry. And then there’s that moment when the beige underwear goes into the ‘beige’ drawer, but also that moment when all the colors go into their ‘color’ drawer. Now, my underwear is beige and white and crimson and royal and plum and midnight and magenta and turquoise and forest and, well, whatever strikes my fancy. Getting dressed is still easy and sometimes it’s even mindless. There are days when I forget what I’m wearing and I surprise myself with the knowledge that it’s not beige, by golly, it’s red or green or blue. It’s whatever I happened to pull out of the drawer in my yellow and blue bedroom, and I laugh and I feel strong and content and colorful.

A colorful life is a very good thing.