Indecisive People Shouldn't Go to the Paint Store Alone

After seven years of being shoved in the basement, my craft room and I have finally made the move upstairs. Out of the dreary, poured concrete walls of the unfinished basement and into the eternal sunshine of the main floor of the house.

Where there is a bathroom. This is key.

I quote the great singer Irene Cara, circa 1983, when I say 'What a feeling'. The only difference being that she sang it about 'Flashdance' and I'm applying it to a craft room.

With the move upstairs, comes the understanding that my craft room must groove with the rest of the house. It cannot jeopardize the otherwise cleanliness and/or neatness of the main living areas. All funky stuff must be contained in said craft room, rarely (if ever) can any funk creep outside of the door.

Translated: My hodgepodge mix of storage containers, including but not limited to: old baby wipe containers, shoe boxes, an empty paint can, and assorted ziploc baggies absolutely, positively can not make the journey upstairs. The upstairs is striving to be classy and snooty. Obviously old Huggies baby wipe containers with cracked lids scream something other than polished and sophisticated. Oh, and my choice of paint colors cannot be ridiculous and give visitors to the living room (which is visible from my craft room) a headache.

No problemo, si? No, not si.

Picking a paint color is proving to be a royal pain in the heinie. It just might be my great undoing (remember, I'm already in a weakened, disturbed state having just watched 'Fight Club'). I've spent way too much time the last two days at the paint store. Do you know how many colors of paint are available? Like, a million. Seriously. There are at least 375 different shades of taupe, none of which are exactly what I want. On the upside, Curtis the paint store dude and I are now Facebook friends and we're talking about getting the families together to see the new Muppet movie in a couple of weeks.

My new bestie, Curtis, and I picked out no fewer than twenty-one distinctly different paint chips for me to bring home and test out in my room. That's right. I said twenty-one distinctly different colors. What can I say?  Indecision may or may not be my problem. In my defense, there are currently only thirteen of the original twenty-one chips taped to the walls for further consideration. The other eight I immediately went 'Eww!' and tossed, face down, on my desk. Ha! Take that indecisiveness!

So now I sit, drumming my fingertips on the desk, waiting for just the right color to speak to me. It's not going well. The unfolded laundry in the dryer is speaking to me (but just a little). The ice cream sandwiches in the freezer are speaking to me (like, loudly). The unwatched episode of 'Long Island Medium' on the DVR is speaking to me (shouting really). But so far the right color of paint remains silent.

Maybe I brought home too many choices. It's certainly possible. Perhaps twenty-one distinctly different shades of taupe are just a couple too many. Maybe this is why Curtis muttered to himself as I was leaving the paint store, 'Indecisive people shouldn't go to the paint store alone'.

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