My neighborhood is full of Sad Beige Families. Every time I leave my apartment, I pass at least one Sad Beige Family: a Sad Beige Heterosexual Couple with a Sad Beige Baby in a Sad Beige Stroller and a Sad Beige Toddler on a Sad Beige Child Leash disguised as a Sad Beige Monkey-Shaped Backpack to make everyone else feel more comfortable about it. Nobody likes a child leash, but everyone understands why they exist.

On a good day, if they behave, the Sad Beige Children get to go to the playground, where they play with their Sad Beige Friends. The playground, all metal and plastic in bright primary colors, is just the perfect backdrop for the children to look extra Sad and Beige. The Sad Beige Parents love this, because the contrasting setting makes it easy to keep an eye on their children, looking so Sad and Beige in comparison.

The Sad Beige Heterosexual Couples—the Sad Beige Parents—sit on park benches and chat about all of the Sad Beige Purchases they have made since they last saw one another. They order Sad Beige Toys that come in Sad Beige Boxes, which they bring into their Sad Beige Apartments. They slice them open with scissors and say, “Look, honey, this will go so well with our Sad Beige Furniture!” The Sad Beige Children will play with them because they are toys.

Not every Sad Beige Family can afford to send their Sad Beige Children to a Sad Beige School, but the Saddest and Beigest always make sure that they can. There, they will learn Sad Beige Life Skills to be Sad Beige Independent Citizens, because they can’t rely on their Sad Beige Parents forever.

I wonder if I missed out on anything, living a life so Unsad and Unbeige. Maybe the Sad Beige Families are onto something. But for some reason, whenever I see Sad Beige Parents with a newborn, yet to be colored in, I feel the urge to scoop the baby out of their arms and run away.