My family is painting over the whole apartment for the new year – not the one that is coming at the end of this month; the other one with all the red stuff.
Somehow, the task of picking a colour fell to me. I dilly-dallied on it for ages (purely out of principle) but finally picked one named “Spring Blush”, a white with the lightest possible tinge of pink. At this point, two things crossed my mind:
1. Why pink? I have never liked pink. Not even when I was almost socially obliged to like pink as a little girl.
2. Why do all paint colours have such cheesy, try-hard names that fail to be poetic (assuming that was the goal)? Who are the people coming up with them? Maybe they are part-timers who are greeting card writers at their day jobs.
Also, you will never believe how many kinds of white there are until you read a paint catalog. Although sometime you need to really scrutinize them to tell them apart.
Case in point: I nearly chose a shade named “Frosted Dawn” that is a tiny margin away from being “Spring Blush”.
I suspect I went for the latter because I like the word “blush” more than “frosted”. There was just no contest.