In which I ponder 10%

I taped plastic sheets and newspapers all around the baseboards to protect the floors. I removed the light fixtures and switchplates. I taped the window in the front hallway and hung plastic sheeting in the doorways to the living room and the dining room. I put a canvas dropcloth on the front steps.

I put two coats of oil-based primer on everything -- ceiling, walls, moldings. I used the low-pressure sprayer to get into the corners and the fluted moldings. I used mineral spirits to scrub off the droplets that wound up on the floor despite my best efforts. Then I used the sprayer again to put white ceiling paint on the upper trim and the curved edges of the ceiling. And followed with a roller on a long stick to paint the rest of the ceiling. The white was almost indistiguishable from the primer that was already there, but I knew the difference.

After much moving back and forth with different color chips in different lighting, and pondering other, future color selections for the living room and the dining room, Cynthia opted for a sort of dark salmon color for the main hallway.

I spent the first half of yesterday taping off the moldings and trim; Cynthia shored up the floor coverings where it had pulled loose from the baseboards. I spent the second half of yesterday coating the walls with the colored paint. I painted part of the hallway and proposed that I stop and let it dry so Cynthia could be sure she was happy with it. No, she said, I like it, it's a little more saturated than I thought, more colorful, but I like it.

The weather is hot and humid and I was dripping wet when I finished. I stood there pondering whether I needed a second coat, or just some touch-ups here and there.

That's when Cynthia said: boy, that sure looks more orange than I expected.

There was a pause. Then she said, do you like it?

Yes, I said. It's not as pink as I thought, but I like it.

I'm not sure I like it, she said.

Give it time, I suggested. The walls are still wet. Let it dry. Plus, there is navy blue tape bordering the whole thing. That makes it seem brighter than it really is.

Last night while we were walking the dog (we are dogsitting) she said, what would be involved in painting over that?

It was my turn for a long pause. Painting over it with what? I said.

Something that's not so... orange.

I would have to re-primer it, I said. It's so dark, I couldn't just paint over it with another color.

Would that be really hard? she said. Hard? It wouldn't be hard. It would erase the last two weeks worth of work, that's all.

I said, let it dry all the way and then decide. This morning she said, I like it better. But I still hate it about 10%. I can live with it 90%, I hate it 10%.

To the extent that I understand the way women communicate -- women who share my bed, in particular -- I interpret that 10% to mean that I am spending next weekend re-primering the walls.