I needed paint; what I got was a lesson in how things have changed.
Chris Jordan/The Daily Inter Lake/AP/File
I think that, at root, choice is a good thing. Unless one plans on buying interior paint.
Which brings me to my bedroom, last painted when Ronald Reagan was president. The time had come for some sprucing up. Would it be basic white, or a cool green? Perhaps light blue? These were the three possibilities that came to mind. Little did I know that the culture of paint had undergone a calamitous revolution since last I looked.
Off I went to the home improvement warehouse, where I was approached by a paint "consultant." When I mentioned the three choices under consideration, the pleasant young man wrinkled his nose and asked if he could make a suggestion. "I'm all ears," I told him.
He gently revealed that things had progressed to the point at which it was no longer a question of white, green, or blue. The strictures had been removed, the imagination set free, the spectrum of colors exploded, and customers were the happy recipients of the largess. "May I suggest Coconut Milk?" he probed.
Taken off guard, all I could utter was, "How's that?"
"Coconut Milk," he repeated matter-of-factly. "Or maybe something a little duskier?"