Wednesday, May 26, 2010

I get no respect.

This happens to be my fathers favorite line, but I'd like to borrow it for the evening. Like Rodney Dangerfield, I get no respect...at least from my siblings. Unlike Rodney Dangerfield (or perhaps like him...I don't really know), I typically get vindicated. And there's nothing I love more than a concession from my doubters...except maybe the opportunity to say "I told you so."

You see, my parents are in the midst of some home improvement projects. New roof, new patio, new exterior paint. The most debated project, of course, is the paint. Everyone wants to have a say in the new colors. Here's the thing: I know paint. I understand the nuance of color, and how to coordinate shades, and which accents will be too much, and which will be too little. I can gauge that perfect balance between too modern and too quaint (it's a 60s ranch style, after all). And I know which colors will possibly give my father an anxiety attack and so I keep those to myself.

And somehow, despite my Jedi master knowledge of color, my choices are ALWAYS controversial. So Adam put Brad in charge of C blocking me.

My mother, being the intelligent woman she is, gave me first dibs on color choices. The new shingles were called "terra cotta," and I was initially told that they were the same color as Spanish tile. So I picked a nice warm neutral or two...with a sage trim color. My dad agreed...my mom agreed. Brad stared... squinted...contorted...balked...then agreed. Too easy, right? Right.

It just so happened that my mother couldn't find the shingle sample she'd gotten from the roofing company, so she looked on the Owens Corning website, and there it was. On a ranch style home no less...looking way less terra cotta than any Spanish tile I'd ever seen. It was more brick, actually, with some mahogany undertones. Way too cool for the warmer colors I'd picked out. I knew we'd have to use blue. So I said it. "We'll just have to pick a lighter neutral...and we could use a blue for the trim." My father looked absent-minded, my mother looked thoughtful, and my brothers looked like I'd just tried to force- feed them dog crap.

Brad snarked me immediately. "This isn't Ga-REECE!"

Adam's face contorted into a disgusted look. "You just lost more style points!"

"FAIL! You FAIL again, P!"

I shrugged, tossed my hair, and said "Fine. I quit." (I plan on saying this every time I get a points deduction.)

They seemed satisfied. I pretended to be satisfied. But the real satisfaction came later that evening, when my mother actually tried some paint colors on a virtual house. Her current favorite combination consists of a lighter neutral for the base color...and a blue shade for the trim.

And she saved the image under my name.

3 comments:

  1. what does "P" stand for and would you please post photos when said improvements are finished, pahleeze?!?

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  2. I would love to tell you what P stands for, but I'm not even sure anymore. My sister started calling me Peeps, which was shortened to P, which now stands for any number of words that could be potentially humiliating. Brothers are horrible like that.

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