My wife and I were excited when we were told of the incentive offered by our apartment complex: re-sign for a period of time and get a wall painted, an ‘accent’ wall. Well this sounded like a great idea. A free paint job. My wife was excited, I was intrigued, we decided it sounded good.

We were allowed to choose between three difference colors to brighten our white-walled apartment: green, brown and dark ‘red.’ For some unknown reason. We were not allowed to take the paint samples home to see if they matched. No matter, my wife chose the dark red.

Weeks of anticipation followed, what would the paint look like? Would it match my wife’s infinite and perpetual home decor purchases? Finally the day arrived. Someone would be coming to our apartment during the day–while my wife and I were both at work–to paint the wall.

 I was on the phone to my father when I walked in our apartment that night. He heard me gasp, he asked what was wrong. I replied “the paint job.” The wall was orange. It wasn’t a neon hunter orange or a vomit orange but a Texas Longhorn orange. A deep burnt orange. Its a really pretty color–in a home in Tuscon or on a football uniform–but not in our Spokane apartment.

My wife hadn’t yet arrived home that night. I knew she wouldn’t exactly be a huge fan of our new orange wall. So I knew I had to pretend I liked it to console her and try to deflect her overflowing sadness and unrestrained fury. She didn’t like it. She called the apartment’s management. You see, none of this would have happened had they allowed us to take the sample.

Long story short: now we have a dark red wall.

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