.. yes apparently for those with X & Y chromosones, brown comes in more than one colour. Unsuprisingly this wrongness is all my fault even when my entire contribution to the purchasing decision was to supportively say “Yes, that one looks fine” while mildly distracted by attempting to stop the kids having lawnmower races.
Distressed Oak reads the marketing blurb. The only thing that’s distressed in this whole bloody painting pantomine is yours truly. Still after scoring a marital point (everyone does this, don’t try and deny it, okay not everyone keeps a spreadsheet to see who’s winning but…) by calmly pointing out who had made the colour choice and who had heroically covered the square meterage of Denmark until the small hours of this morning. This, you may be unsuprised to hear, is the same poor bastard who has the unenviable job of somehow removing what’s essentially my life’s work. On the upside, I have already decreed that this is job for the killer sander, a violent mutant fushion of the murderous strimmer and an angle grinder. It reduces mature trees to sawdust in all the time it takes to say “Clear? Plug it in then and TAKE COVER”
I hate the colour too. Otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it. I mean that’s not how our relationship works. We decide something, I generally do it wrong, we have a sprited argument and then either one of us backs down and gracefully accepts the others point of view or I sulk. It’s not like I don’t have a choice in these things. Just so we’re clear 😉
Honestly I hate the colour. Distressed oak my arse, more like runny poo with a hint of chocolate. That’s£20 I’ll not be seeing again.