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This Is Probably What Your Relationship Looked Like After You Saw #TheDress

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It all started off innocently enough. You checked Twitter, per usual, and saw some tweets about a dress. You didn’t understand why people kept asking what colors you saw. It was clearly two specific colors, and you knew this because you went to Kindergarten and got into college. So why is this random internet stranger saying that it’s “definitely” two completely different colors?

“Babe, what colors are this dress?”

And just like that, your night took a turn for the worst.

“What do you mean what colors? It’s definitely blue and black.”
“What?! Are you blind? It’s definitely white and gold.”

You look at each other, questioning everything you’ve ever thought you knew about the person right in front of you. Was Kindergarten not enforced in this person’s school district? Has this person led an entire life full of lies? Is he colorblind? Does this person know he’s color blind? Is he going to kill you tonight? You begin to feel unsafe.

“You’re just fucking with me, right?”
“No, I thought you were just fucking with me!”

Whoa. The gravity of the entire situation hits you. You were able to get past the fact that one of you is a Republican and the other is a Democrat. You somehow looked past your allegiances toward rival sports teams because you loved each other. You were soulmates. But this? No. How can you possibly look past someone being so blatantly wrong?

You begin to yell at each other, not yet out of anger, but of disbelief.

“The dress is blue and black. There’s no gold there. There’s no white.”
“White and gold is all it is!”
“No! Do you see the border of the picture? THAT is white. Border, white. Dress, BLACK AND BLUE!”

Now you’re angry. You trusted this person! You told this person things…deep things. And now he’s lying to you straight to your face. You get up, walk away, and begin to pace. He keeps trying to explain to you that you’re wrong and why you’re wrong, but all you hear are lies. You storm out of the room, phone in hand, and go to a room of darkness — one that both expresses your current mood and allows you to look at the damn dress under different circumstances.

You FaceTime that lying Satan worshipper from the room you’re in, just to scream, “IT’S GOLD AND WHITE!” and promptly hang up.

A few moments later, you look down at your phone. Satan’s spawn is calling you back. Much to your displeasure, you answer. This person meant something to you, and, though reluctantly, you believe you should try to understand why this person believes the dress is made of colors that it simply is not. Perhaps the resolution on his screen is different. Maybe he hit his head today, suffered a massive concussion, and it’s your civic responsibility to rush him to the emergency room.

You take the time to listen. You ask questions accordingly.

“What leads you to believe the dress is black and blue?” “Do you see the shirt I am wearing? What color is it?” “What color is this pillow?” “What color is the lampshade?” “Are you on drugs?” “Are there voices in your head telling you to say things you know are not true?” “Are you just stupid?”

Finally, after becoming so unbearably angry with each other, you check Twitter once more. Someone has found an explanation! Hallelujah!

Oh.

“What does it say?”
“Nothing.”
“WHAT DOES IT SAY?!”
“THE DRESS IS BLACK AND BLUE, OKAY? IT’S BLACK AND BLUE, BUT I’M NOT CRAZY BECAUSE LITERALLY 75 PERCENT OF THE WORLD SAW WHITE AND GOLD, AND YOU’RE STILL THE CRAZY ONE.”

After about thirty minutes or so, you walk down the hall toward the bedroom. You peek around the corner and see the same person you looked at so incredulously just an hour before, lying there in all of his perfect perfection, never having lied to you.

It’s hard, but you finally push past your own pride, and gather up enough courage to say, “Look, I’m sorry I yelled at you and called you all those mean names. You were right, I was wrong, let’s have sex.”

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lnsayers

My state gave you J. Law, Clooney, two-fifths of the Backstreet Boys, and multiple fifths of bourbon. I gave you a cover letter using Brian McKnight lyrics. Psuedo-adult by day; PGP, TFM, and TSM contributor by night. Please don't ask me to do math.

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