â€œI donâ€™t think thatâ€™s it at all.” She said.
She scowled at the paint sample against the wall of the study.
He sighed. The fiftieth sigh against the hundredth paint chip from the builderâ€™s supply store. Thatâ€™s not a bad ratio, he thought to himself. I am handling this dreadful plebeian drama rather well.
â€œWeâ€™ll just have to try another brand of paint. I know EXACTLY the color I want and these just arenâ€™t working.â€ She turned to him; satisfied in her decision, in her superior wall-color-choosing-abilities when the thought momentarily took over his mind and paralyzed him.
THE COLOR OF YOUR SMASHED BRAIN MATTER WOULD LOOK FANTASTIC COATING THESE WALLS! HERE- ALLOW ME!!
He blinked. She was staring at him.