If you are a married man, you have been dragged to the paint store to look at "colors." You rarely, if ever, go there voluntarily. As a matter of record, our local paint store has a sign proclaiming "no custom colors mixed without permission slip from wife."
Fine by me.
So here you are, in the paint store with your Sainted wife. You smile benignly, you make like the coral is indeed different from the pink, that there are key differences between the zillion "whites," that that shade is no doubt "so last year:" you basically whore yourself out for peace on the home front.
I'm a curmudgeon. This adventure is the definitive test of marital harmony. Who knew? Not any guy I ever met. It wasn't anywhere in the marriage vows I took.
And don't even start me on wallpaper shopping.
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