A recent trip to Copps has brought a disturbing trend to my attention: There is now prime parking real estate reserved for the elderly and parents with small children. Considering the newly-expanded definition of ‘handicapped,' I propose that the colorblind be acknowledged as a disabled people.
My own struggles demonstrate that this disease makes life rather unpleasant for those afflicted. As a kindergartener, I was labeled a troublemaker for coloring a purple sky and brown grass. At career day in second grade, I was informed that I could not be a police officer or a fighter pilot. Lucky for me, I'm too much of a weenie for either.
The troubles continue today, as those ‘in living color' insist on orally examining me about my colorblindness. No, I don't see black and white â_ I'm not a damn dog. And yes, I can figure out your jeans are blue â_"" I'm not an idiot.
Though my 21st birthday is rapidly approaching, most of my shopping is still done with mommy in tow. Men's clothing used to be fairly reliable, but Abercrombie just had to bring purples and pinks into the mix â_"" how the hell am I supposed to know?
So I'll be damned if I'm going to let some soccer mom take my front-row parking spot.
