Today I've decided to undertake the long-overdue task of repainting my bedroom. The new colour is a light brown I found in a sad corner of the paint store designated "mis-tints", where, not unlike conditions on the Island of Misfit Toys, cans of unwanted paint collect dust, waiting for a kind-hearted and, more especially, frugal individual such as myself to scoop them up lovingly and below cost.
Actually, the situation on the Island of Misfit Toys was considerably more hopeless, come to think of it. If I recall, those toys weren't going anywhere. Who'd they expect was going to blindly set sail across the Arctic Ocean on the off-chance of locating an island that, based on its name, could be nothing besides a refuge for defective pull-string dolls? Could that flying lion not have dropped them off any closer to civilization? Anchorage, maybe? So, okay, the life of a mis-tint isn't quite as dire. But it's still kind of dire. They should call them "Les Mis-tints".
Now, I've never been one to repaint a room--or anything else for that matter--on a whim. My bedroom in my first apartment featured a blood-coloured transcription of a chapter from Revelations scrawled over two different sections of the wall; a parting gift from the previous tenant. Revelations is that unsettling bit towards the back of the Bible where they start getting into how the world's going to end (hint: horribly). I left it. What am I going to do--go all the way to the paint store, spend a bunch of money, exert a bunch of energy, just to not have to wake up to an ancient foretelling of Armageddon day after day? Please.
My latest circumstance was more serious. The walls of my current room up until this point were a hue that could only rightfully be described as "pink". In my roommate-who-painted-it-that-colour's defense, he was anticipating it to end up as, in his words, "a deeper, totally masculine mauve." Alright. But no--end of the day: pink. The pink walls, in combination with my Nintendo 64 and this zany purple lamp I picked up at Giant Tiger, left my room exactly one beanbag chair shy of being a full-scale reproduction of the iCarly set. Couldn't do it. Something had to give, and lord knows it wasn't going to be Mario and the gang, so out with the stir sticks and drop cloths it was. So far I'm liking the brown... Just noticed I got a bit on the ceiling, though--whoops.
