A man laughing | Source: Pexels
She wasn’t any better. Instead of the jokes, she’d just fix me with this pitying look and say, « Victoria, have you ever thought about changing it? Maybe something more… neutral? »
Like my house was some kind of an eyesore and needed its personality surgically removed.
Their disdain was clear from the beginning. They acted as if my house’s color was a plate of rainbow sprinkles served at a funeral.
A woman laughing | Source: Pexels
One day, Mrs. Davis marched up to me while I was planting petunias. Her smile was about as bright as a rainy Tuesday, and she pointed a manicured finger at my house.
« That color is just an eyesore… it clashes with everything, Victoria! It’s gotta go. How about something like… beige… for a change? » she declared.
A woman staring at something | Source: Pexels
Clutching a watering can, I raised an eyebrow.
« Goodness, Mrs. Davis, is that what all the commotion outside is about? I thought a UFO had landed judging by the expressions on everyone’s faces. But it’s just a little paint! »
