May God help you if your favorite is #45
Personality quiz time! Everyone has a favorite shade of gray. (Mine’s slate.) That much is obvious.
But the real question is, what does your favorite shade of gray say about you? What broad assumptions can strangers make about your personality based on which of these gradient-shaded hues strikes your heart?
All Christian Greys aside – you’re about to find out.
You have a deep – and well-justified – fear of men named “Brett.”
Your palms frequently smell of cinnamon, a spice which you’ve never handled in your life.
What, are you serious? You don’t know what this shade of gray says about you? Please leave.
For years, you’ve been haunted by the vague but constant certainty that your life has been building to something. You may now rest assured that it definitely has not.
The good news? That’s not cocaine, that’s Pixie Stix filling. The bad news? The cartel doesn’t care.
The wolves smell your fear.
That door? The one in your dreams? Go through it.
Play the lottery today. Just do it. Why are you still reading this!?
Buy those new shoes you were thinking about. No, not those. The other ones.
A single toothpick dangling from your mouth would be a good affectation for you in 2015.
You dislike hot dogs.
Your Twitter following is actively conspiring against you. We all talk about it at the meetings.
Tonight’s the night to really branch out when ordering your Pay-Per-View pornography.
Confront your boss. Quietly, while alone in your office. But do it.
Go ahead, live a little. Fill up the tank all the way this afternoon.
You’re about to get really, really into MMA.
Invest in gold.
Oh, God, just run. Just go. Get out. Now.
Look, if a guy named Benjamin asks you to hold something for him, would you? Like just for a minute?
Don’t make it weird. Just, you know, do it. Benjamin’s a good guy.
It’s about time for you to move into the “mustard snob” phase of your life.
Your skill at assessing the perfect ratio of cheese to toppings on your homemade pizza is severely underrated.
You are so beautiful. To me. You are so beautiful. To me. Can’t you see?
Your passion for rutabaga is finally going to start to pay off.
You’re really going to catch the front end of the tide of critical reappraisal for 3 Doors Down, you trendsetter, you.
You should really launch that solo career. The rest of your barbershop quartet hasn’t appreciated you for far too long.
You are a latent pyrokinetic. You just haven’t tried hard enough yet.
If you don’t know what this shade of gray says about you by now, it’s too late. Far, far too late.
Keep pitching to the TED Talks. One day they’ll accept.
Your back may not thank you when you embark on that second career as a piano mover, but all the pianos that you move will, thanks to the fact you’ve gone off your meds.
You are the egg man. But not the walrus. My God, no. Why would you even think that out loud?
Your twin loves of beekeeping and abrasive free jazz will soon come together in a thrilling, though ultimately horrifying way.
The owls are not what they seem.
If 16-year-old you ever met current you, he’d be furious. Which is unfortunate, because thanks to a rip in the space-time continuum, that’s about to happen.
Long-held tensions between you and a relative are about to come to a head. Someone else’s relative, but still.
Your ideas on animal husbandry are controversial, but in the end, your research will bear them out.
There’s no time like the present. Except for the future, which is pretty great. And the past, which well, the past is really just the best, isn’t it? Go there.
You would do anything for love, but you won’t do that. What “that” is, however, is between you and the courts.
This just isn’t your day. Sunday is. Claim it. Claim it with a fury.
If you were a college class, you would be “UFOs In American Society” at Temple University.
The coded messages to you in Vanderpump Rules are becoming harder to ignore.
Two turntables and a microphone are where it’s at. You are nowhere near any of those things.
Banjo virtuosity awaits. The only question: Clawhammer or Scruggs style?
The wonderful thing about Tiggers is that there’s only one. The same is not true of you and your murderous clone.
You will be disappointed by season 2 of True Detective.
Fly like an eagle, to the sea. Then, swim like a narwhal.
Dude, you’re looking really good. Have you been working out? Eating differently? C’mon, what is it? What’s your secret?
Grow a beard.
You seethe with rage. Quietly bubbling rage. Much like a fondue.