This weekend, Somanna and I tackled our bare dining room walls. They now have color. A color I chose after much deliberation.
Alas, now that the second coat is up and dry, I’m not quite 100% happy with it. I chose Bradstreet Beige by Benjamin Moore, a lovely color. However, this color possesses an ever so slight pinkish undertone that threatens my very sanity. Is it a bad color? Well, no. Does it look horrible? Not really. It looks quite nice actually. It’s just not…quite what I wanted. It’s that blasted pinkish undertone I tell you! I find myself staring at the wall until I start to twitch and mutter things under my breath.
Pinkish Undertone! It’ll drive you MAD!
Somanna contends that I am crazy, that there is no alleged “pinkish undertone” and that the color looks fabulous.
But I went ahead and called my mother anyway for back up to lament about the pinkish undertone that threatens my sanity. She in turn, proceeded to recount how I won an art award in sixth grade for “good use of color” and that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt (or an in-the-flesh-husband) that if I say there is a pinkish undertone, then there must be one. Mama also instructed me to never doubt my color judgment skills because clearly this award indicated that I am in fact, a color prodigy.
I hung up feeling vindicated, err better. Even us crazies love some good ole Mama praise. I mentioned this conversation to Somanna, in passing of course, you know just to rub it in that there is a pinkish undertone and that I am a color GENIOUS, HA!
He just looked at me said, “Yea, well she can’t see what you’re wearing.”