When I was newly married, I must have expected my husband to read my mind. I sulked when presented with a sweater he had worked hard to select. "He should have known this is a bad color for me!" My heart sank: clearly the marriage was based on some horrible misunderstanding. I wanted to gather my skirts about me and scurry to my tower so as to get a head start on growing a very long braid. Deep in my melodramatic heart I knew that if he really loved me, if he really knew me, he would have known I look hideous in beige. My handsome prince would have known to get me the plum-colored mohair!