We didn't have any plans this weekend, which is kind of rare, and I always get excited about having no prescribed activities, then by Sunday I am always depressed about having no prescribed activities. I do not know what to tell you, other than I am batshit crazy.
And that's why I said, "Let's paint a room today!" like that's just something you wake up and do. Marvin, who equally has guano in his medulla said, "Yeah, okay. We'll go to Lowe's."
I don't know if you have noticed this, but all of our walls are of the beige genre. You have never met anyone more ill-equipped to live inside beige walls. I need color! Drama! Mood! Intrigue! I need azure, mahogany, jade, orchid!
Beige. Have you met me? I couldn't BE less beige.
Naturally, I was thinking we'd paint the living room chocolate, or the dining room sage. But Marvin said, "Let's paint the bathroom."
Okay, really? Our bathroom is the size of an airplane bathroom. Who wants to paint that little tiny space? Who cares? We could cover the whole thing using one of my nail polish bottles.
"Come into the bathroom," Marvin said. I'm telling you, that room is so small you can't even change your mind, but somehow we both wedged into it. Marvin closed the door. "Why are we closing the door?" I asked. "There's no one else here to SEE us in the bathroom."
"Look at the door frame," Marvin, who enjoys vanilla ice cream, said. "It's peeling. We can get some white paint and fix it right up."
Okay, HONESTLY. When did I marry Pat Boone? Could he be less fun? I said, "I really like the color of the ceiling in here." Inexplicably, our otherwise in-the-family-of-beige bathroom has an icy blue-green ceiling. It's pretty. "Let's work with that color," I said.
Now here is the part where none of us will ever understand Marvin, ever. "Yeah," he said, "that color IS nice. Let's paint it that color, and paint the door silver."
"Honey, this isn't R2D2's bathroom. SILVER? No; who are you, Grace Jones? We're not painting it silver."
Naturally, being two adults, we did the grownup thing. We called my mother. She asked if we could get a chip of the paint, which we could because that bathroom is chips ahoy, in there, I'm telling you. She said we were to take said chip and compare paint colors at Lowe's. Which of course had not occurred to either one of us. Not me, and not Shel Silverstein, over there.
So Marvin stood on the tub and plinked a piece of that paint off, and then Marvin does what Marvin always does, and I know I have kvetched to you about this before. He did FIFTY-NINE OTHER THINGS before we could go.
"Let me just download this song from 1852."
"Let me just call this guy I haven't talked to since Hebrew school."
"Let me just memorize the names of all my bones and ligaments, and reassign them new names, like Ted and Horace."
HONESTLY. It's like someone paid him to torture me for the rest of time.
I have no idea if your ligaments have names.
Finally, twelve centuries later, we got in the car. We hadn't gone a block before Marvin started convulsing and swerving. "WHAT?" I groused.
"There's a spider on me," he said. "And now it's off me and it's somewhere in the car."
"It's FINE," I told him, figuring he was having another of his "there's an ant on me" flashbacks. "Just DRIVE."
Three seconds later I saw this–this CANNONBALL on my arm. This giant black hairy SPUTNIK , climbing up my limb. Naturally I said, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKK!" and Marvin had to pull over. Oh holy mother of God, that spider was ludicrous. It was like the one Peter Brady had on him in Hawaii. It was like some spider from a movie where there was a nuclear accident or something. Geez.
After that tragedy, we finally pulled in to Lowe's, where Marvin said, "I forgot the paint chip."
We discussed going back home, but I was afraid we'd pass the spider and it'd jump back in the car, so we decided just to go in there and pick out paint colors we liked. At this point it had gotten so late, what with Marvin's plans for a new undersea world he had to draw up before we left, that we'd already decided to just get samples and decide next week. Cause who is gonna make plans with the two of us?
So we picked samples and here's what we came up with. Here's what I liked:
Mmm! Anjou Pear! Pretty! Soothing! So chic!
Here's what Marvin picked:
Howard Johnson's called. Want their decorator back.
And I KNOW I said I needed cornflower and sunset and turquoise. Okay, I didn't really MEAN it. IN WHAT WORLD would that teeny tiny bathroom look good in VINTAGE RICKRACK? I will never poop again if I live in that frenetic sherbet shade.
So, the bathroom remains untouched and color-me-beige.
At least someone is getting along in this house of paint chips.