Today, I'm answering another question from the meme passed on by Sara Louise from Sara in Le Petit Village. Nice person. Good blogger. Meme whose question must be answered in essay form.
Today's question: What was my worst decorating faux pas?
I don’t think I’ve ever made a faux pas, as such. I’m not that type of guy. I “blow it,” or “fuck-up.” Or, “ruin everything.” A faux pas seems a little too subtle for me. My mistakes make noise.
So, my biggest decorating fuck-up. Well . . .
There is every bedroom I ever had into my mid-twenties. Just a big salad of dirty laundry and papers and shoes and and broken headphones and milk crates for the croutons and who knows what sick soup of fluids for the dressing.
There are also the half-dozen delicate glass oil lamps my wife was given over the first decade I knew her. They stopped coming because I smashed every one of them. In less than 24 hours. One barely made it out of the box. It turned to dust at my loving caress. You could tell they were quality pieces because they disintegrated upon immediate contact with the floor. I am the Lord of Chaos.
Then . . . it was Valentine’s day. Pre-babies. She went to work. I banged in sick. We had an office in those carefree days of enough room, and she said on more than one occasion she’d love if it were painted in a warm pumpkin tone.
My plan was to paint it for her before she got home as a Valentine’s present.
I went to Home Depot and agonized over the color choices. I don’t remember the names, but I remember I did choose one with pumpkin in the title.
I lied to myself a lot that day. Kept telling myself it was pumpkin.
It was macaroni and fucking cheese. Not homemade either; the processed stuff. Yellowy, orangey, shiny.
So, instead of a cozy, autumnal, pumpkin-spiced office to snuggle into when she got home, my wife was put on lock down inside a block of Velveeta. Stouffer’s State Penitentiary.
She lied and told me she loved it. I bought it. I had to. She sat in that Krafty ol’ office for 2 years before we moved.
And that is the story of the love of a good woman.