Mauve has never done anything to me and yet I can't even stand the sound of his name. Mauve. Yuck.
It's a truly visceral affect he has on me. I hide my prejudice. When the Wisterias are in bloom, I naturally ooh and aah with everyone else but inside I'm shuddering...Mauve. Too much Mauve. Yuck.
As with any prejudice, I see him everywhere, I distrust him and am uneasy when he's around. He seems to sneak into so many colours and try to ingratiate himself. The silvery, mother-of-pearly colour that I yearned for in the dining room has him lurking in the darkened corners. And now he's threatening to show up again in the pale grey colour that we have chosen for woodwork at the front of our house.
. . . not to mention the colour we've chosen for the walls.
The Historian keeps saying, "Look, if you're going to stare at the colour long enough, you're going to see it. Relax, and get that look of disgust off your face, it's grey . . . . . . . . . .with a hint of purple".
But I know that wily character Mauve, he lulls you into a false sense of security with his purple-ness or his pink-ness but he's still Mauve under it all.
Maybe I need to accept him. Embrace him. Plant a Wisteria and name the house "Mauve Manor".
Pssst...I've changed the main colour...that should foil Mr Mauve...