August 25, 2015

The Picture That Almost Ruined Our Relationship

The other day, like most days, we had a pile of laundry sitting on our bed. Being the sweet man that he is, Derrick decided to take care of the situation and asked me, "Nicole, where does this pink shirt belong?"

Now, normally when someone is doing something nice for you, you let things like incorrect color identification go. But ever since the Great Rug Incident of Last Week, when Derrick was positive that our living room rug was black when it is clearly blue, I've been a bit sensitive about colors. Mostly, I'm just afraid that everything I learned about Roy G. Biv was a lie.

But the shirt he was holding was without a doubt, undeniably purple.

However, when I pointed this out, Derrick remained as adamant as he was over the rug incident (which still hasn't been resolved, by the way). I should have let it go then, but I just couldn't. I mean, you can't go around calling purple things pink and expect me to just accept it. What's next, are we going to start eating soup with "forks"? Start calling our Diet Coke iced tea? Calling Tom Brady a legend? (Heh.)

But seriously, the shirt was purple and to prove my point, I held it up to the pink shirt I was wearing for comparison. "This, what I'm wearing, is pink. That shirt is purple."

And that's when Derrick looked at me like I was truly crazy. In the same tone I imagine people use to discuss imaginary friends, he said very slowly, "Nicole, the shirt you're wearing is orange."

And this... this just drove me nuts. I was outraged. Purple is pink and pink is orange? This is America, we have rules and standards here and Derrick was defying all of them. So I did what any American would do when someone is threatening our sense of personal peace: I went to Facebook.

Yes, right then and there, I snapped a "boob shot" (as Derrick called it) showing my pink shirt next to my purple shirt. I knew I was being one of those people but I didn't care: I needed justice.

After a few minutes, the comments started rolling in. But far from solving the matter, it just made things worse. Because Facebook is not a place where adjectives like "pink" and "purple" exist. No, instead we were told that one shirt was lilac, and the other was in between a salmon and a coral.

And once you've crossed the line to where you're arguing where exactly on the pink/purple spectrum lilac falls, there's really no going back. I got flustered, Derrick thought it was funny, I got livid, Derrick got flustered, then we stopped talking for thirty minutes. It was reminiscent of the time in college when we didn't talk all night after a particularly emotional game of HORSE.

Luckily, we've matured a bit since college and were able to agree that one shirt was a pinkish purple while the other was a pinkish orange, meaning we were both right. I think it was a big step in our relationship for both of us, a step that every couple has needed to, at one point, take ever since "the dress."

Although, if I'm being totally honest, I still think I'm right. And our living room rug will forever be blue.