You learn a harsh lesson about primary colors
You and Emily spend some time, days in fact, picking out a color for the upstairs room. Eventually, you decide on “Viking Yellow.” It’s a bold, rich color, and you can tell the guys, “Yeah, man, it’s viking yellow!” thus setting them up for an easy Erik the Red joke. Anyway, you acquire the paint while Emily lays the drop cloths. Together, you start edging in and rolling on the mighty yellow latex: a good name for a condom, by the way.
As you paint, you begin to think back to a few days ago when you realized just how blue the room was. Then you become depressed from looking at the blue walls and for forgetting that yellow and blue make green, even with paint.
That’s ok with you. You knew you’d need multiple coats to get rid of the blue, so you’re not too set back. After two solid days of rolling while Emily edges in, it seems that the wall is going to need a third coat. This news doesn’t sit well with Emily, who becomes frustrated at the splotchy yellow looking walls. Meanwhile, the little bits of blue paint showing through the yellow are wearing away your soul.
You turn up the music and start rocking to cheer Emily up. You grab a roller and sing into it like it’s a futuristic microphone, which mollifies Emily at least a little bit. Next, you use the roller as some kind of weird hat like on Whose Line Is It Anyway? and so on in this fashion until you’ve exhausted all of your ideas: a lucky number 7, corn on the cob, a skeleton key, a one-legged version of the potato dance in The Gold Rush, a pipe (this is not a pipe), a saxophone. It doesn’t seem to be working, and Emily is still upset at the need for a third coat.
“This is what’s called a homeless person’s room,” you say with a cheeky grin.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Yeah, ’cause it’s gonna have to have at least three coats,” you answer. “You know how homeless people will layer a bunch of windbreakers instead of having a warm winter coat.”You decide to: