Yellow is just not your color, Momma always told me.
It wasn’t that she was being rude. She was only trying to save me from looking washed out and jaundiced.
None of the Tate girls can wear yellow, she said. It clashes with our mousy hair and freckly skin.
The color of summer sunshine, yellow is lemony fresh clean. I’m all about clean…
My kitchen is painted happy yellow. Sweet broom and yellow bearded iris fill my flower beds. Yet rarely do I wear the color…
As was typical in our family, Daddy never got the memo about our yellow problem. During his mid-life crisis, before I was even old enough to drive, he bought me my first car.
A could-it-be-any-brighter(?) YELLOW corvette.
Oh the irony.
Look at the stars. Look how they shine for you, and everything you do. They were all yellow. —Coldplay, Yellow.