Color Blind

The Kid took the day off today, and by "day off" I mean that he didn't check his email during any of the thirty minutes we spent fine dining at the diner for breakfast (solo!) today. And he didn't check it when he was complaining about my driving (which was nice) or when we went to the Amazing Small Town Paint And Decorating store to pick out a new color for our house.

The Kid pulls a major "who knew" when you get him around the decorative arts. Just because he is 6'4" and could pass for a professional hockey player does not mean that he did not pick out our china or once become so obsessed with the house in the Royal Tenenbaum's that he tried to convince me to paint our stairwell pink. (None of this comes as any surprise to me: he told me about three months into our lurve affair that it was the man in me that brought out the woman in him. Which I think he meant as compliment. Which I sort of took as one.) On the flip side, he can seriously manage all sorts of manly stuff, like grilling and bug killing and not listening to one word I am saying whenever he feels like it, but paint colors? Tonalities? Saturation? He is all over that shit.

We've been in the house (our only house, and the longest place I have ever lived anywhere) for ten years. Painted it twice I think -- maybe once, but there was an addition thrown on (literally) (don't ask) (I get panic attacks just thinking about it) four years ago and I can't remember if we painted the whole house then or just the new part (it was blur) (a bad blur) (Ativan! take me away!) (I kid) (sort of) -- but what with the weather in these parts, the house painters are generally very busy. This paint job however will be the first time we're actually changing the color. Because, you know, after ten years of throwing away your children's inheritance at your house, you start to feel like you own the son of a bitch.

But change is scary! Very scary!

Thankfully the Kid had his decorating skirt on today. He and the owner of the Amazing Small Town Paint Store, who also happens to be a friend and a wickedly smart and all kinds of talented person, were definitely communicating on a level that was way over my head. When they saw orange or red or gray, I saw "pretty" or "not so pretty." When they knew beforehand that certain shades of white would change the main color by inexplicable degrees, I was all, wait? is that good? do we want that? When I mentioned that paint colors were like nail polish colors ("tomfoolery" and "stomp" being the house paint versions of "i'm not just a waitress" and "french francs"), no one really laughed. Which was a good thing really, if you think about it. (Not like there's anything wrong with that...)

My mother is an artist, an oil painter. I can barely draw a smiley face. I know what I like, but I do not understand why I like it. And while I can see the various different shades of blue, I do not really see the "red" in the blue that the Kid does, even if I squint my eyes. I am better with black and white and the alphabet, although, considering that he is writer who gets PAID to write, I mean to say that I am better than the GFYO with black and white and the alphabet.

So basically, I am gonna open my ears to what the Pro and the Kid have to say and just close my eyes, point and pick and wing it. And if the house ends up looking like some color blind two-boot wearing oversharey beeyotch picked the colors? Then you will know that I asserted myself way, WAY too much.


****

Picked the boots. Returned the others. And now I look like this:


Thanks, dudes. Awesome.