When we moved 11 years ago, we agreed, “These room colors are temporary.” With straight faces, even.
Temporary threatened to stretch into forever. For years, I dreamed of painting our living space. Paint chip displays tempted me as if made of chocolate.
Finally, we lined up a painter. This time, when we visited the paint chip display, my dreams would come true!
The paint names reinforced my fantasies, especially pink hues. Noble Blush, for example, sounded like the color of a drawing room in a Jane Austen novel. Peach Indulgence matched its luscious, ice-creamy name. I will not discuss Romantic Smoke because this is a family-friendly blog.
Still, after 11 years, I was having the time of my life.
“Quit sticking those things in your purse.” My husband tugged on me. “They’ll arrest you for shoplifting.”
“It’s impossible to shoplift paint chips. They’re free,” I said.
What was his problem? I left some for other customers.
At home, I held up paint chips to walls. Appliances. Toothbrushes.
“What do you think of this?” I asked Hubby for the 3,973rd time.
He clammed up, so I asked the guys who collected our trash. Both were all about Noble Blush.
“Brings a distinctively neutral, yet warm ambiance to a room,” they agreed.
As our makeover date approached, Hubby and I wondered if we would survive the actual painting.
“This wasn’t my idea, remember?” he said.
Give my husband credit. With my writing deadline looming, he removed all our earthly possessions from six rooms, finding space elsewhere. Unfortunately, Hubby’s digging through cabinets and closets uncovered numerous artifacts, including macaroni the same age as the pyramids.
Also, while we expected upheaval, we didn’t anticipate scavenger hunts for each and every possession.
When I griped, Hubby said, “This wasn’t my idea, remember?”
Well, if he’d kept me away from the paint chips …
Halfway through the painting process, I tried to concoct a vaguely nutritious meal. “Where’d you put the bananas?” I called to Hubby.
“In the Ford’s front seat, of course.”
“Of course,” I muttered.
“Or maybe by the second row of boots in my shower.”
Maybe all this was getting to him.
Our pleasant painters worked efficiently and well. Yet, the process seemed endless. Finally, though, my dreams came true.
We thanked the painters who had blessed us with their expertise. I handed out fresh bouquets of gratitude to my helpful husband. “We never could have accomplished this if you hadn’t stepped in.”
He smiled. He preened.
I gave him a big hug. “Okay, start moving everything out again. The carpet guys are coming tomorrow.”
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: How did you survive your last home makeover?