Daily Write: Compromise

The paint swatch was so brightly yellow, he was certain it could burn its way through his closed eyelids while he slept, potentially causing permanent retinal damage over time. Beige of some variety would be nice, or maybe a calming pale grey. This canary color was the stuff of nightmares. It blared at him, as if a driver out on the street below were leaning on his car's horn.

Of course, she loved it. "It's exactly what I want," was her happy declaration, clearly already feeling attached to her decision, and considering the matter completely within her domain, and so settled. He stared at the off-kilter square patch of sunny punishment on his wall, and debated his reaction to the question he knew was poised on her lips: "What do you think?"

She didn't really want to know what he thought. She was just perfectly polite, and felt that it was necessary to make a show of including him, and a demonstration of valuing his opinion. The expectation was that he would cave to her whims, at least in the realm of interior decorating, and frankly, he was exasperated by this particular cliché. He'd already assented, without so much as one word of doubt or complaint, to the floral bedding, the pastel bath towels, and the chipper little "Home Sweet Home" sampler hanging on the wall in their foyer. He was reaching his breaking point... almost ready to suggest, not without a generous helping of sarcasm, that they paint the bedroom black, including the windowpanes.