Neandarthal man and The Pink Shirt

Neandarthal man, to start with, is colourblind. He owns a monochromatic wardrobe (black) and claims he wears it in mourning for the world and to assert his identity as being deviant.
Deviant? Alright, if thats what you want to call wearing a piercing in your left eyebrow.
I am most certainly NOT a morning person. Ideally my day would begin at five thirty in the evening and end at seven the next morning. However, i do not work the nightshift at the local sweatshop, so my attempts at turning completely into a nocturnal being are constantly rebuffed by threats of being fired the next time i walk into work late, looking like I've been up and at it all night.
Neanderthal man jars me out of slumber with a phone call on Saturday morning (Ah that blissful reprieve), jabbering cheerfully about a 'new look'. I mumble incoherently into the phone about calling him back. Neanderthal man does not stop but insists on listing out the day's activities even as i contemplate homicide. Finally i make growling noises and curse his unborn children after which NM decides to summarise conversation and threatens to come around and bring breakfast. I hang up, gratefully, only to be woken again an hour later by the annoyingly cheerful doorbell (note to self: must change current chattering-bird type doorbell into something more sombre- Frankenstein piano intro perhaps).
Neanderthal man has brought upma for breakfast- oh joy. And to think I used to curse my mother's cooking and dream of endless gastronomic pleasure once i moved into my own place.
NM jabbers on as i struggle to keep awake and not cut his nose off with the kitchen scissors:
We are going shopping.
As i blunder through my room looking for something non- creased and washed to wear, NM chats happily about his new found love for colour. Wait a minute. Colour?
Since when have you decided to explore colour, i ask NM. Apparently, it was a late night National Geographic show on reptiles of the Amazon jungle that brought it on.
Colours are good, he says. Alright then.
Shopping we go.
What does the man buy?
Two pairs Hanes underwear, black; two t-shirts, navy blue and military green, one pair grey trousers- and- the crowning glory-a Pink Shirt.
Man picks Pink Shirt off rack and holds it on self, staring at self in mirror and looking to me for approving nod.
I nod. Come to think of it, I could do little but nod, since i had only had three cups of coffee before we left and had run out of ciggarettes- if he had held up a baby blue tutu, i would have nodded my approval without even blinking.
Man tries Pink Shirt on. I nod.
Man takes Pink Shirt home.
Man shows Pink Shirt to MOM. She nods. The old bat calls me in a panic. I reassure her, testifying to NM's orientation and explaining that it was just brought on by a late night Nat Geo show and anyway, everything else he bought was dull and boring. NM's feminine side? Doesn't exist Aunty, i insist.
Neanderthal Man then insists on going out in Pink Shirt to Koshy's. Honestly cannot understand NM's obsession with the place- its noisy and crowded and badly lit. And the food reminds me of the stuff we used to get in boarding school. Everytime i eat there, i instinctively look around furtively for matron/prefect type characters who could possibly catch me secretly shovelling food into NM's plate or the lady-at-the-next-table's handbag (whichever s more convenient).
Neandarthal Man insists everyone's staring at him.
I mistakenly reasure him that no one is looking at him, that it's all in his imagination- at which he gets sorely offended and then thinks he's not noticeably unique at all.
NM blames Pink Shirt. Labels it 'Ordinary'.
OK.
NM spends all Sunday trying to bum shirt off onto ex- roommate, rowdy friends and finally ex- military father who threatens to chase him all the way to Vellore with it.
NM broods over wasted purchase and potential new owner- looks up from his tea with diabolical glimmer in eyes.
I wore the shirt to work next morning.
Floated into the office with rolled- up sleeves and a psychedelic tie- new age funky formals, i claim. Boss looks at me with serious doubts written all over face. Haven't seen him stare like that since the last time i wore a skirt to work without shaving my legs- the bastard!
Pink Shirt is getting to me. Have not worn it since then but it hangs menacingly in wardrobe, threatening to unleash it's bubblegum horror onto the world.
I have threatened Neanderthal Man with dire consequences if he brings up Pink Shirt or Shopping again. As for his efforts towards 'bringing colour into his life'- the MOM has told him I'm 'colourful enough for the both of us'.
Neanderthal Man has gone into mourning once more. It has even bought a black toothbrush.