Out of the pink

"Sweetheart," I said to the love of my life, fire of my loins, buyer of my groceries, "did you buy this box of Kleenex?"

"Yes," he said. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's pink."

"I can see that."

"Pastel pink with flowers all over it."

"So?"

"Look around," I said. "Do you see any room in this house that's begging for a pastel pink floral Kleenex box?"

"Well, it's not offensive," he said.

"Tell me," I said. "When you're selecting which box of Kleenex to buy, do you ever think about how the color of the box will blend with our decorating scheme?"

"Not a bit," he said.

"Ah," said I. "That explains a lot."

I married a man who bakes the world's best bread, grows the world's best tomatoes, and smokes the world's best beef brisket, so I suppose I shouldn't complain if he can't think about complementary colors while shopping for Kleenex; still, I struggle to find a place where the pink pastel Kleenex box won't stand out like an open wound.

Finally I have it. "Sweetheart," I say, "I've found the perfect place for the pink Kleenex box."

"Great," he says, "as long as it's not in my office---"

But it's too late. Hope he enjoys it there. It's a big box so it'll be around a long, long time.