“Men can only differentiate between 16 colours.”
he explained to me as we scanned the paint chips.
I was busy trying to decide between ‘Rusty Nail’
and ‘Bull’s Eye’.
“It’s red.”
Thank you, Dear, but I need a completely irrelevant name
to give to the lady who mixes the paints.
Back to the 16 colours – he likes 8 and so do I,
but, apparently they aren’t the same 8.
We agree to divide the house.
He will choose for the studio.
I will choose the rest.
And yet somehow the studio
will be painted “Chipotle”,
not orange.

#83