I wanted a brown accent wall. Then I changed it to forest green and a
different wall. Then burgundy. Then rust.
I painted large swatches of color on several canvases. My
husband thought they were good paintings.
That’s about all he said about it.
The canvases morphed into shades of burgundy, rust, brown,
and maroon and I finally chose one. When
my daughter said it was the color of the strawberries she threw up one time, I
changed it to peach. She never threw up
peaches.
Trying to make a not-so-bright peach color, I mixed up some
pale shades of burgundy, but they turned out pink. By now, the canvases were beginning to
resemble a spilled deck of cards. I
asked my husband what he thought. He
said he was glad I was changing it because he didn’t like that color I had picked
out. I asked when he was going to tell
me this?
He agreed to go with me to pick up color swatches. Shocker!
We agreed on one. Double
shocker! It’s a muted peach color, and
it looks fabulous. Well, if it doesn’t,
neither I nor my husband would dare say anything.
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