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The following was crafted for me by a friend when I was investigating launching a website dedicated to the color orange (I obviously never got that project off the ground):

A Brilliance of orange, carefully coiled in a store. Yes, the handy-dandy extension cord. At first glance it might not appear to be sexy (unless you are of a particular social set and you know who you are) yet you are lured by that solid, re-assuring shade of happy. You must purchase it. You neeeeeeeed it. Okay so you have about five extension chords by now, because your little fetish has gotten out of hand. The phrase, “all things orange” lurks in your sub-conscious. You are weak. You give in. Your wallet may be lighter when you leave, but somehow, the world seems calmer. You may be able to plug in all sorts of extra things from a distance. (Christmas lights, power tools, your brother in-laws trailer.)

But you have one sassy piece of orange.

But what really matters is the personal orange experience. Wait…that sounds silly, I sound like Oprah. ( “Have your best orange experience today”) One weekend in the fair land of sales tax free Oregon, I had a rather pleasant orange moment. I first saw two guys wearing orange t-shirts walking out of Wal-mart (a place I don’t normally frequent for a variety of reasons we shouldn’t go into just now…. for legal purposes) and I knew, something great was to be had. Okay honestly I didn’t know. I was just tagging along with some friends who were going to buy pillows, bathmats, and wife-beaters. I looked at an assortment of ugly clothes, made jokes about buying a plastic housecoat and going on Jenny Jones to get a free makeover. I then took note of the tank tops (with a shelf-bra) that Kelly was glancing over. I saw black ones, (always classic) blue sparkly ones, pristine white ones and then…then I saw it. *cue inspirational music (ala Barry Manilow or Beethoven) * the orange tank top. ( with shelf-bra) hanging there…then I saw more and more. There was an assortment of sizes and even styles. I grabbed up a handful and skipped merrily to the dressing room, didn’t mind the nasty manner of the lady working in the dressing room. I tried on a black one, I thought to myself, “nice…classic, dependable, much like Wilford Brimley” and then I tried on the orange. ( this is the part where a person would play some brassy happy jazz music) I began to dance about in that tiny dressing-room, I bumped my elbow into the mirror and didn’t care. I had found what I had always been looking for my whole life, besides a “pretty pretty princess” board game. I came rushing out of the dressing room, barely dressed and said, “Hot Damn, I am taking this home!” I proudly showed off that new piece of happiness and proudly paid for it. “here is my credit card, charge that nice lil’ piece of happy.” And I wore it…places. I wore it in a hot sweaty car, driving home enjoying that west coast sun. I wore it to a party this weekend. It went well with the braids and plaid skirt. I think I shall wear it to my own funeral. It wouldn’t be a bit much? Would it?

Find some orange…but not orange potato salad. that means someone left it out too long. And have you seen what happens to people who dare eat that stuff? Oh my lord, you wish them dead almost as much as they wish it upon themselves…wait… wait where was I?

I leave you with this.
Frank Sinatra was once asked, “what color should no real man wear?” He responded, “what’s the difference? A color is a color.”
This was a man who adored Orange. “Orange is the happiest color.”
So if the chairman likes it, so should you!