I'm a flirt. I always have been. I like a little playful banter that makes any hum-drum here or there feel like skipping through the park.

There was a time when I practiced the art in white shirt, plaid skirt. Now, the sideways glance coupled with a rapier sharp repartee turns any obligation into a bit of a tour de force. (OK, it's true, I did not always choose my sparring partner based on wit; that came later.)

And why not? Now, it's harmless. Genteel grown-up fun as long as boundaries are very carefully observed.

So will I keep driving by White Wall's house? Happen to be up at school just as he is leaving basketball practice? Call and hang up when he answers the phone? (There are those of us who remember being able to do this before technology became such a narc.)

Can I let color be the sauce upon the noodles? The curry on the rice? We'll see, but I have certainly altered my route to pep club and the grocery store and my best friend's house. Just to catch a glimpse of him walking out the door.

All images Farrow & Ball, Living with Colour by Ros Byam Shaw (which contains lots - lots - of great images with color on the walls as well); photography by Jan Baldwin.