We’ve lived in this house for eight years.
We’ve watched its carpets collect happy dirt.
We’ve watched its windows slowly adapt to each passing season.
We’ve remodeled; hosted parties; built a container garden on the deck.
We’ve relocated litter boxes; hung up photos of our families and bizarre expressionist paintings; we’ve scattered scented candles.
We’ve repurposed a guest room to a nursery, delightfully filling every nook and cranny with overpriced plastic.
We’ve made it our home, Dear Reader.
And yet, after all this time, there remains the unpainted wall.
Well, multiple walls, really.
Our bedroom is a shameful shade of green. Gun to the head, I’d call it Mellow-Yellow. It’s reminiscent of a baby celery leaf.
And it’s gross.
It was there when we moved in, and after all these years, we’ve never changed it.
Even though it’s ugly.
Even though it’s a color I would never pick…
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