Trending
"All you have to do now is choose the paint color."
"Blue."
But of course, wall paint comes in colors dubbed "Flyaway" and "Calypso" and "Capri" and "Sky Fall," but never, ever just plain "blue."
I rubbed my temples. Why, exactly, must the room be painted before I can reclaim it as my mini man cave?
Once upon a time, it was my son's bedroom. A couple of years after he moved on, I converted it into my home office. Out went the bed and toy boxes. In went my desk, chair and bookshelves. And no paint brushes were dipped, daubed or otherwise harmed in the making of this sanctum.
As happens, the circle of life collided with the cycle of life, and the crash changed the course of life. Which is to say, my office became the home storage room. Out went my old desk. In went tables, stands, lamps, shelves, boxes and all manner of this, that and whatnot. Especially the whatnot.
"All I'm asking for is one room, just one room in the whole house to claim as my own," I said.
"It's still your room," my wife said. "This is temporary."
Which is how I learned the word "temporary" comes in as many shades as "blue."
Two weeks ago, other projects wrapped and the promised day finally came. "We're ready to move the tables, stands, lamps, shelves and boxes out of your office," she said.
"And the whatnot?"
"The whatnot, too. It's all going out. We'll move your new desk and chair in, and you'll have your mini man cave back."
I wanted to cry, I was so happy.
"But first," she said, crushing the moment, "we're going to fix it up for you. It's going to be great!"
I slumped. "Just great."
Terry sparkled with enthusiasm. "So, crate up everything on your shelves, disassemble all the bookcases and cabinets, pull everything off the walls, and drag every last speck out of your office and put it in that room over there. Temporarily."
I whimpered.
"Then we'll scrape off the old border, scrub all the walls, prime everything, and then we can paint. So see, all you have to do is choose the color."
A sob caught in my throat. "The people I bought the house from 20 years ago painted this room blue -- just blue, OK? -- right before I moved in. Why do we have to change it already?"
"It already changed," she said. "Look behind this picture. That's the original color before it faded. And then there are the stains over there. What did you spill?"
"There are stains?" I squinted. "I don't see any stains. Just let me move my stuff back in and we'll be done."
"You humor columnists, always cracking with the jokes."
I wasn't joking. But cracking, yes.
"And you get to decide if you want an accent wall or two tones with a chair rail or a border or …" Terry grinned gleefully. "… we could get two dozen little cans of coordinated colors and adorn one wall with a really cool geometric pattern. This is going to be so much fun!"
As fun as a temporary toothache.
"Oh," she said, "rip out that old carpet, too. What color do you want your new floor?"
"Blue. Salty Tears Blue." I began to cry.
— Commiserate with Cole at burtseyeview@tribtoday.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.