Bertha

I dip my finger in it and wipe it on my girlfriend’s freckled nose.

“Aah! What is this!?”

She wipes it off with her sleeve like a cat grooming himself.

When she sees it on her arm her eyes bulge.

“No.” She says.

“Yes.” I confirm.

Now her blooming face shares my ecstasy.

“I did it, Babe! It’s the first entirely new color ever invented!”

“BABE!” She wails, jumping on me like a baby monkey on its mamma. “YOU’RE GOING TO BE FAMOUS!”

“You know what I named it? I named it Bertha.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“NO.”

She looks at me the happiest I’ve ever seen her in the 14 years we’ve been together.

It’s likely I’m going to be famous as the first scientist to ever create a completely new color. It’s likely I’ll be in history books. But I understand more than ever before that it won’t matter when I have this silly lady along for the whole ride.

“You named it after me?”