The girls' room is looking a teeny bit better (i.e., less glowing) with a second coat of paint. So today our long-suffering handyman painted the bathroom. You know, the one I had made several trips to Home Depot to pick out the color for, the one where Larry and I had painted umpteen stripes of different paints so that we could select just the right shade. I was aiming for a sort of burnt orange - the kind that goes well with browns and sage greens and dusky purples. Something, you know, grown up.
It turned out bright orange. Jack-o-Lantern bright. Blindingly bright.
"Don't worry," said the handyman. "Let's see how the second coat looks; if you don't like it, you can go back and get a different color."
At which point my head sort of exploded, because it should be fairly obvious by now that I am incapable of selecting the proper paint. I mean, he saw all those little containers of paint samples we had tried on the walls already. I would have done better if I had closed my eyes and just picked one of those sample cards out of the display and handed it to the paint mixer guy. What the heck is wrong with me?
What with the girl's room and Brian's room (a bright deep blue) and the bathroom, we've got an exploded-Easter-egg-dye-factory motif going on upstairs. And the kids love it. The bathroom, according to them, looks "cool."
Which wasn't quite the word that Larry used when he came home this evening and checked out the paint job...