I don’t want to be a cartoon character anymore. I know, you’re thinking “What the…?!?!?” It’s true. I was sitting at the spa getting a pedicure and perusing through the different colours of polish when this epiphany occurred to me. Typically, I will choose a bit of flash. I love colour! The brighter the better. Bright colour makes me feel happy. Normally when I am in a situation that requires me to choose a hue, I will pick sunshine yellow, electric lime ,atomic tangerine, or flamingo pink! Any of these colours sound familiar to you? They can be found in your crayola box. You don’t have a crayola box? My turn, What the… ?!?!?
I love the smell of fresh Crayolas. That is what colour smells like to me. For as long as I can remember, I always got a new box of crayons and a new colouring book in my Christmas Stocking. Santa, being the great guy he is, never forgot. I never had to ask him for them, they always showed up every December 25th, bright and early before breakfast . Cracking open that new box, seeing all those colours lined up in two rows. The tips perfectly flat and paper in pristine condition. Not a broken or cracked crayon amongst the group. Just ready for me to pull one out, ever so gently, and begin my new masterpiece. Never did I use those crayons on plain white paper. That was for pencils. No, my beloved crayons were meant for the brand spanking new colouring book. My colouring book was always in the theme of a cartoon that I loved. Bugs Bunny, Scoobie Doo, Josie and the Pussy Cats or of course Mickey Mouse and the Fab Five.
My dream at 6 was to be an artist. Not a Chuck Jones type, he was sheer genius and I loved everything he did. Including the uncredited work he did with Ward Kimball on Sleeping Beauty. I wanted to be a clean up artist or a cell painter. Obscure I know, but they were the ones that got to play with the colour. I would colour in the backgrounds of my colouring book so blank space was spared. I would force everyone in my family to admire it and tell me how fabulous it was. Then, very carefully I would turn the page and continue on the next picture. All in order, until it was full or my sister would scribble in it ruining that colouring book forever and I would not return to it.
My love for colour is not merely limited to crayons, my love for colour reaches into the depths of my closet! I own several bright hues of t-shirts too! My coats are brightly coloured, and so are my socks. I love polka dots and stripes, random patterns and geometrics too! So for me, to limit myself to a soft neutral feels strange and foreign. I look at my sister who, to me, seems very stylish as she dresses for work or out for an evening. Does she wear acid green or atomic tangerine? Um, no. Her closet is filled with colour, but in a way that says she is an adult and not 5. When I dress in monochromatic I don’t feel 5, I actually feel like an adult. That is very liberating!
Sitting at the pedicure station, I was flipping through the different colours of polish. For the first time in my life I said no to Paco the Pool Boy Blue, and Lola was a Show Girl Orange, and said hello to Chicago Champagne Toast. Even the name sounded sophisticated to me. It is the colour of champagne. The kind of colour that Audrey Hepburn might adorn her toes with. My toes for the first time in my life look pretty, like they belong to a grown up with taste. So long clown toes of yesterday! Hello new me! Well, almost new. I need to get myself a coat that doesn’t look like it belongs in a circus tent freak show, then I will be set to get off at my next stop. But I am bringing my crayon box and colouring book with me.
I am liking the tourist route.