I am currently siting in my office waiting for my husband to come home and take me to electroshock therapy a 12-step meeting a psychiatric ward Sherwin Williams so we can buy paint. “Surely this is a task a grown woman can accomplish on her own?” you might be asking yourself. I’m sure for most people it is a no-brainer. “I’ll have two gallons of the Duration satin in Petrified Mushroom, please” she says, casually flipping through the ubiquitous fan deck of paint chips. Of course, her color is spot on, bringing our the best in her floors and furnishings. She could be a decorator in her free time.
I am not that woman. My reasonably normal, well-adjusted facade is quickly giving way, exposing my slightly unbalanced side. The cause? First it was a crisis of epic proportions: choosing the right white for the kitchen cabinets. Simple! Easy! NOT! I interviewed no less than 136 shades of white from 3 different companies that make paint specifically for cabinets. I narrowed that down to a mere dozen or so, then with Russ’s help to two. Finally in desperation (because if I don’t get the dang cabinets painted we will NEVER move forward in the kitchen!), I picked one.
I’m still not sure if I really like it. I think maybe it is too white.
Whatever, I am withholding a final vote on that until the wall color is done and the ceiling is painted. Meanwhile, so we can perhaps begin replacing window casings and trim in the den, we were going to paint the walls in there this weekend. I’ve been through the paint chips more than a dozen times, I thought I had a color picked out. Biltmore Buff.
Went to Sherwin Williams today to buy the paint, look at the chip again and think, “dang, this is really really yellow!” Chicken out, grab a few more chips and come home to stew in my own insanity. My sainted mother (who has her own SW fan deck, thank God) provides an intervention and a bit of perspective. Of course, since she’s in Texas she cannot see the situation firsthand. Dammit.
As Mama and I are hashing out the merits of Ivorie vs Believable Buff (SW 6127 and 6120, respectively if anyone wants to follow along with the crazy at home), dear husband calls. In his perpetually sunny, happy-go-lucky, generally good-natured way he asks “How’s it going? Did you get the paint?”
Clearly he is unaware that his wife is in the middle of a full blown breakdown.
Silence. “Honey? Are you there? The paint?”
“I couldn’t do it” I sort-of wail.
Silence on his end. “I thought you had decided.” he finally says.
“Me toooooooo!” Definitely wailing at this point. Holding on to my sanity by a tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiny little white (Pure White SW 7005) thread. Yes indeedy.
“We’ll go together when I get home.” Ah, relief. No so much that he’s the world’s best color picker (notsomuch), but it’s just really nice to be able to share the crazy.
Meanwhile, I think I need some help. Of the professional variety. Possibly involving straitjackets. Clearly this has all gotten out of hand:
Tell me I not alone. Everyone has a giant pile of paint chips in their living room. Right? Right? Hold me.