the permanence of paint
October 02, 2005, 8:28 pm

Thumper sent me off to H0me Depot with "Get whatever you want, honey. I trust you."

Now, anyone that knows me knows I'm not a particularly boring person, right? Furthermore, anyone who knows me knows that I have a propensity to haggle over a decision until I get so fed up I make a poor choice just to get it over with; exactly how is one supposed to choose an appropriate foyer color under such conditions? Such a decision takes into consideration the permanence of a relationship: if the paint color is a hit, will it still be as cherished if the relationship goes sour? If Thumper ends up leaving me for a 22 year old with a dynamite rack, will she come into the house, wrinkle up her nose and say, "Ew...gross" and will he shrug and say, "My ex picked it out"? Before we leave for our honeymoon and Thumper carries me across the threshhold of our house, will he glance at the wall adoringly and say, "Remember when we were dating for 9 months, and you picked out this color, and the Ravens won that day, and we painted all night long?" Will our lips lock then, knowing that my choice of Whisper Yellow was not only perfect for our tiny home, but smudge-resistant from our dogs and eventual children as well?

But I'm getting too far ahead of myself, as always. In fact, we've primed our asses off, up to four coats, because apparently these walls have some sort of leech-system installed where the paint disappears in a matter of minutes by some unseen, alien force. Thumper has dilligently spackled and sanded the area around the door which has been bereft of trim for two years because he "just hasn't gotten around to it"; we canceled evening plans with several groups of friends to let the motivation take hold.

We have also been laughing ourselves silly over our Trading-Spaces-esque picture taking: Thumper, with spackle; Jessi, with paint roller; Thumper, with paint in his hair; Jessi, with Puss-in-Boots eyes after spilling primer all over the hardwood floor (oops). Slowly, the foyer has taken shape as more than a dog hair-infested vestibule into a sparkling clean archway into more dog hair-infested rooms, but it's getting better.

"Well, I guess things are going okay if you're picking out paint colors together." --Thumper's friend Kevin, last night

They're better than okay; this is fantastic. Paint splotches and all.