I’m not positive who told me I don’t look good in yellow.
I know that I lived out all my junior high, high school, and most of my college years avoiding the color. I can confidently say that no one ever gave me something yellow as a gift. I was led to believe that my fair skin and blue-green eyes made it a no-no, that it would make me look washed-out and sallow.
I believed that.
On a whim, I grabbed a yellow cotton top a couple summers ago. It was in the junior department of Walmart, to be honest, and the sunny color caught my eye. I almost put it back and bought the (safer) raspberry pink version. But I really wanted that yellow– and I got it.
About a week ago, my husband got home from work and our youngest greeted him, spinning and twirling, declaring, “Daddy– wook at new outwit!” It had been a gift from her godparents and Daddy gushed appropriately,
“Very pretty, Sweetie!” (and then) “You’re just like your mama– you shine in a bright, clear yellow.”
And, cheesy as it sounds, my heart fluttered just a bit.
Because, you see, just like that this man of mine managed to press “reset” on a fallacy I’d always believed. I spent years and years avoiding a color I like– a color that makes me happy– because I really believed I couldn’t pull it off. His ability to work it into the conversation so nonchalantly truly lent credence to the words. He wasn’t rolling his eyes at a mopey wife saying, “Of course you look good in yellow, honey…”
Yesterday, G. begged me to be her “twinsie.” A part of me worried we’d look like idiots as we went to story hour and church for our ashes.
A bigger part of me knew the days of her wanting to be “just like Mommy” are limited.
Last night, when G’s daddy arrived home, she fairly danced over to the top of the stairs. “Wook, Daddy! Mommy and I are both bee-yoo-tee-ful!”
He picked her up and pulled me close.
“Yes. Yes, you are.”
I’m very much looking forward to celebrating Valentine’s Day tonight with this man-of-mine. Do you have anything special planned?