Brad liked a fancy belt on his jeans. He liked some colour on the pale blue jeans he preferred. Pale blue was definitely his colour, being blonde haired and blue eyed. His mother had taught him to wear pale blue from a young age. She used to brush her fingers through his blond hair telling him he was the most handsome boy in the world.
“You are definitely a pale blue boy,” she used to say. She’d slide her fingers through his thick fringe. “What are you,” she’d asked?
“A pale blue boy,” he’d reply.
“And what kind of pale blue boy are you?” she’d then ask.
“I’m my mum’s pale blue boy.”
“Yes, you are my perfect pale blue boy,” she’d say. She would then wrap her arms around him and squeeze him tight, kissing his face all over until he squealed and told her to stop.
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