Yesterday, I bought a new candle. It's burning in my kitchen this very minute. I'm worried that I should be watching it. Maybe I should invest in a baby monitor. But that's not important right now (though I imagine that it will quickly become very important when the building burns down and I'm the one to blame). What's important right now is the following conversation. The context is entirely up to you.
"Oh, this is soft. What is it? Cotton?"
"No, it's merino wool."
"Oh, cashmere?"
"No, merino wool."
"It's a nice sweater."
"They're on sale right now. You should get a few."
"I should."
"And this style comes in every color imaginable."
"Really?"
"Charcoal gray, light gray, black..."
"Wow!"
YOU DIDN'T NAME ANY ACTUAL COLORS.
DO YOU UNDERSTAND?
THOSE ARE SHADES.
A PORTION OF A GRADATION FROM WHITE TO BLACK.
OR POSSIBLY FROM BLACK TO WHITE.
EVERY COLOR IMAGINABLE?
EVERY COLOR IMAGINABLE.
I'M SORRY, I DIDN'T KNOW THAT YOU WERE RAISED BY PANDAS, PENGUINS, AND ZEBRAS; ON THE WORDS OF PRINTED NEWSPAPERS; AT THE BEGINNING OF THE WIZARD OF OZ.
I'M SORRY. I SHOULD BE MORE TOLERANT.
I can appreciate the charcoal grays, the light grays, and the blacks.
They're essential for any respectable closet.
Right now, I should be intoxicated with the scent of my new candle, but I'm wasting its precious wick because you've given me no choice but to write about your affliction.
Saddle up my high horse once more.
It's time to ride into the sunset.
And I won't return until I've shown you what it means to know every color imaginable.
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