Paint.

“I don’t think that’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 builder’s supply store. That’s not a bad ratio, he thought to himself. I am handling this dreadful plebeian drama rather well.

“We’ll just have to try another brand of paint. I know EXACTLY the color I want and these just aren’t working.” 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.

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