In the spirit of the season, a retake on “The Easter Egg House” from three years ago. This was a cautionary tale, on the perils of not consulting one’s spouse, when it came to home decorating ideas.
The shutters were faded. Formerly Wedgewood blue–they looked more gray than blue. “Honey, if I painted the shutters they would really make the front of the house pop,” I suggested. “Just don’t spend too much money. Keep it as close to the original color as possible.”
My helpful paint store friend showed me color chips–and more color chips. There was “On the Town” blue, “At the Opera” blue, “Philadelphia Independence” blue, “Katmandu” blue, and what the heck was “Etruscan” blue? In the hundreds, perhaps thousands of chips, there was no Wedgewood blue. I was all alone–lost in the color forest.
It was dumb on my part–I didn’t bring a color swatch with me. A picture–anything, would have been helpful. On to “Plan B”–select what I imagined, was closest to Wedgewood blue. My good intentions jumped the track at that point. I selected “Regatta Blue.” It was a pleasant color–who didn’t like ships, sailing, and the sea?
My color choice became the talk of the neighborhood. At home my “Regatta Blue” morphed into a garish, happy, Caribbean steel-drum band blue. It should have been, “Weekend at Bernie’s,” blue–I was gonna’ be so dead. There was no easy way out of this dilemma.
“The house looks like an Easter egg,” She said. “You’ve got to repaint. I can’t bear looking at this every day.” This time we went together to a different paint store. I wasn’t going to risk going back to the same store and explaining.
A darker, more tranquil shade of blue was selected. I hated do-overs. For the colors to match, all shutters had to, first, be painted the lighter, brighter blue–then top-coated with darker blue.
Then, the gossip started. the phone rang off the hook. “Do you know what your husband is doing?” “That color is hideous.” “Where did you get that color?” “Why is he painting your shutters two different colors?” “When is he going to do something about it?”
None of my neighbors called my bright blue shutters ugly to my face–only behind my back. I knew what they were thinking. Nobody had to spare my feelings. The shutters looked good, with what turned out to be six coats of paint. I’ll carry this, along with the approximately 2,917, plus another 32, blunders made in my life–thus far.
I got in digs with one particularly pesky neighbor. “Would you like me to paint your shutters and trim when I’m finished? I’ve got extra paint left over. Could I paint your birdhouses? They’re looking a bit shabby.” There was no response–only silence.