I have the following possessions, all in teal.
1. My laptop. (I think I told you that story. The man in the computer shop wasn't impressed that I chose a piece of kit based on its colour alone, without asking questions about megabytes or other such young-people nonsense.)
2. The cover for my Kindle Paperwhite. (My daughter gave me this. She thought my reactions overstated when I realised it matched my laptop cover, but she was probably worried I would dance on her ginger cat if I didn't calm down.)
3. Some teeshirts.
4. Some jumpers.
5. Some scarves.
6. Some socks.
All I lack is a pair of teal trousers and some teal shoes, but one can overdo things. If I went out dressed all in teal, perhaps with a teal hat, I would be mistaken for a bright summer sky and that might not end well.
What I didn't know, until a minute after I began this blog post, was that a teal was a duck and that we get the colour teal from some of the bright-blue colouring these ducks have on their feathers. The colours are more apparent when the ducks are flying; most of the time they're quite coy about their bright bits, like this one below. I can imagine them swooping up into the air and saying, 'Ha ha! And there was you, thinking I was wearing a boring brown speckled coat!'
According to www.etymonline.com, my favourite word-origin site, the colour teal was only used to refer to clothing from 1923, whereas the meaning 'small freshwater duck' was used in the 14th century.
|This duck doesn't look in bad shape at all considering it was born in the 14th century.|
Now, my life's ambition is to get myself one of these ducks, add it to my list of 'Things I Have in Teal' and find some way of wearing it so that it matches my socks.
Or, I could have it on my desk in the study, so that when I'm writing on my laptop, or reading my Paperwhite, there's a pleasing amount of coordination in the room.