Puh-pull.

That’s how I said it when I was little: puh-pull. In Kindergarten a teacher asked what color cards she was holding. Could Mrs. Anderson be serious? She might as well asked me what day Saturday morning cartoons were on. What should I expect from a teacher that told me to color skin and the sun with the same crayon. “Cwoun.”

After nap time I asked some of my friends how they did. Munching on cheese and crackers, one boy in overalls confessed he always got two mixed up. I am not like this kid. I was freakin’ out.

I was supposed to grow out of a lot of this, they said. My funky clothes from high school would be traded in for and a clean button-up shirts mellow khakis. I have on a yellow shirt with blue polka-dots. I was in the airport last week and saw a quilted pink leather couch on a magazine cover. I can’t get it out of my head.

Why do I like purple so much? Purple is perfection. Every house would be prettier painted purple.

My fish tank has purple rocks. (Per the color-wheel, the purple rocks make the yellow fish more yellow.) I am typing this journal from my plush purple couch. My desktop wallpaper, purple, looks like hokey wallpaper from the 50′s.

Everyone person has a favorite color, but we don’t know why. No one decides to have a new favorite color. We just like it. That’s just great.

I am so excited about purple, I don’t even know what else to write. I’m going to stop now.