A gloomy color, dull, too staid… yep, that's me, Gray: I know, you say "gray days", and you mean not just fog, and a sky full of heavy, flat clouds, but gray to the core.
I'm unpretentious, synonym with modest, middle-aged, bent heads, with a few strands of limp hair hanging, like that old man I see every morning, wearing gray, dragging his feet and shopping bags to the nearest bench.
Then again, they started on me pretty soon: "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return", and so on. You ask me? If I agree? Well, yes and no. Granted, gray tarmac isn't a beauty, or cigarette ash, for that matter. Still, in by-gone days, they used ash to do the laundry, or to bake cakes. And well, I'm a stylish color too, you know, the understated/classy sort: gabardine for the tailor-suited Wall Street lady, and a pin-striped suit for the gentleman.
And yet, enough's enough! I'll have you know, that with just a little light I get silver lamé, fit for any black-tie affair. Just picture me together with one of those long gray pearl necklaces, and the longest cigarette-holder, dry cologne, some jazz music in the air… How do you like me now?
Squirrels choose me, and often those shiny inlaid marble floors, gray-white-gray-black, almost an artwork, with a red-haired diva leaning against a grand piano and singing Brecht. Or the tabby cat, mixing my shades and curling on a yellow couch: stylish or what?
And then, there's that gray-blue hue: Persian cats, silver foxes, and blue firs in the park, standing out in the snow.
Oh, right, and here's a surprise for you! Put your nose just here, and try some of this on the tip of your tongue! I'm hot, eh? And… atchoo! Pepper, my dears! Gray and so lively!