My fascination for the color blue has been so strong that I am certain its source is genetic. There was a time when I had every perceivable shade of blue in my wardrobe (that’s what I call a “wardrobe malfunction”). I would pick two shirts with a barely perceivable difference in shade, and purchase them against the opinion of the salesman who would insist that the two are exactly the same. My take on the popular verse taught in kindergarten was this:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
How I wish
Roses were too
(I mean blue)

Taking photography a bit more seriously, remedied this situation a bit and I began to appreciate other colors. But a real reform – one whose scope extends to the wardrobe – came about after I made my acquaintance with this certain someone. This post goes out to that lady whose love for mustard, orange and maroon has been somewhat infectious.