Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

I am thrilled that women have discovered color for their wardrobes this summer, because I am a color person. For example, the walls in every room in my house are a different color, from eggplant purple to sea green to purply pink. It’s drama in paint chips. Plus the red sofa in the family room.

I like to wear colorful clothing too. Green pants with white and yellow daisies. Iridescent purple and blue pants with a blue shirt; slim cut jeans with fish and seaweed painted all over them. Blue shoes, red ones. Even gold.

Yes, I have the requisite “little black number.” In fact, I have a couple of them, because the rest of the world has been enamoured of black for the past few years. It has been the uniform of choice, possibly because it requires so little thought. Or maybe because the world at large thinks black is slimming.

Regardless, when I was little, very few people wore black. Old women with buns. Funeral attendees. Chimney sweeps. But beyond that, the world was a sea of color. I’m glad to return to those days.