A Hundred And Seventy Two Shades Of WhitePosted: August 14, 2014
I don’t know how many shades of gray there are, but in my local paint stores there must be 172 light shades of white.
Ever since our house flooded last spring, this has become the summer of re-construction, and I’m faced with these decorating decisions nearly every day. Someone else might relish the chance to look at hundreds of flooring samples or spend their evenings debating the cost of dishwashers from one store to the next, but it’s driving me insane.
To say I’m designer challenged is an understatement.
When I was growing up, unlike most teenagers, I was happy to let my mom pull clothes off the rack in the store, while I stayed in the dressing room and tried on each outfit she brought in. For one, it was so much easier to let her make the decision. For another, I hated clothes shopping. (Still do.) To me, buying clothes is that necessity you do when you can no longer find ways to cover up the holes in your favorite outfit.
What it boils down to is that I’m color challenged. It’s not that I’m color blind – I can tell green from red – it’s more that if I like the color of the shirt and I like the color of the pants, then I figure they go together. This whole business of different shades of green not going together makes no sense. And why doesn’t the bunny shirt go with the purple flowered pants?
Frankly, I don’t get it. So it’s much easier to let others tell me what to wear.
Now that I’m all grown up and married, and Mom is no longer with us, I take Hubby with me when I need to buy clothes. He assumes mom’s role and picks out clothes for me to try on. Once I get my new clothes home, they all go together into my drawer. There’s no point in separating them since I can’t pair the colors. Anyway, they’re just going to get mixed up when I do the laundry. (You should see how I attempt to separate clothes for the wash. I can never make up my mind what constitutes “light” and what constitutes “dark”.)
In the mornings, I put on an outfit and walk into the kitchen to get Hubby’s approval. “Does this go together?” I ask.
On those occasions when Hubby leaves the house before I’m dressed, I give it my best shot. Sometimes, if we have an important occasion coming up, my sister will remind me to get Hubby’s approval firsthand. Just in case I show up in a pairing of my own design and embarrass the family.
So, how is a person like me supposed to make a distinction between these white colors (just to name a few): white rock, oyster shell, cotton ball, ice mist, sweet cream, light beam, weathered white, and distant gray.
Distant gray? Oh… seriously!
Once again, I figure the best course of action is to pass the buck. Better to leave these decisions to someone who doesn’t think neon yellow floors and emerald green walls would look cool!
After looking at hundreds of flooring samples (that all look alike to me), Hubby says: “I like this one for the kitchen. What do you think?”
“Great!” I say.
“I really like this one for the bathroom,” Hubby declares.
“Great!” I say again. (Actually, I was so-so on that one. But hey, if he’s happy, I’m happy.)
When we looked at paints, we picked out five or six shades of white. Again, they all looked the same to me.
From those options, Hubby picked out the one that I would’ve never even looked at twice. Not because it was bad, but because it was called lemon meringue. It was listed in the white category. How exactly does something called lemon meringue translate to white?
Well, I don’t know. But it looks okay. It’s a very light yellow. So light that it really isn’t yellow at all. Maybe they should rename it to “distant yellow”.
Is there a point to this post? Not really. Unless maybe it’s that Hubby knows best.
Works for me!