Chippendale velvet, what?

I
 invite you into my house and start showing you the place. Okay, not exactly my style, but I can see such happening if I had lost my mind. But, since this is my story, I’m kind, generous and a great host. I’m also a bit obsessed with the look of the place. In reality, this is not true. I’m not obsessed. I’m haunted by a fear of looking less than I wish to. And colors are my new preoccupation. 
So, I show you the walls and describe the colors to you. Now, I’m not talking about gray walls either. In this case, it would be Chippendale Velvet. 
“What’s it look like?” you may ask, but only if you have some serious mental problems,  as I obviously do. Well, it’s gray —sort of a dark gray, like slate. You might consider this information, and then ask, “Why didn’t you paint it dark gray?” I would answer, “Because you can’t get that color! It doesn’t exist.”
I had to go find some colors of latex paint the other day. I wanted some yellow, blue and red —  colors that you can find in any Crayola box. I was hit with an awful reality. Apparently, those colors are complete fiction. You can’t imagine how pissed off I am at Crayola for lying to me since I was too young to go to school. I remember red. I could have sworn it was a color. But with the hundreds of what I used to call red that Valspar gives you to choose from, not one of them is called red. I couldn’t find it. I had the same problem with yellow and blue.
Sure, I could find Lemon Myst or Sunrise Yellow, which is close, but plain old yellow! Nope! Pencil Me In or Just Ducky are fine. But yellow is a fantasy. But I wasn’t ready to give up yet.
“I want red, blue, and yellow,” I told the person in the paint-mixing department.
“You can’t have it!” I was told brusquely, “But look at this.” she said, pulling out a color sample chart. “It’s called She Pouts!” It looked like a dark red with a hint of purple. “And this one’s Planet Fever!”
“She Pouts! Planet Fever!” I exclaimed. After some thought, I figured I knew the rules. Now I could see the forest of made-up name colors before me. So I threw one out. “Don’t you have My Sister’s a Brat?”
The lady threw a gallon of paint on me. It was Paula Loves Paris, and don’t get that confused with lavender because that color also doesn’t exist. 
I guess I didn’t have the rules down. The problem is that I don’t think I can ever know the rules. I’m sure, somewhere in a dark room, probably in San Francisco or Broadway, are some artsy-fartsy out-of-work, disgruntled stage actors. Valspar hired them to think up names of colors to take out their revenge on a public that has rejected them. They are supplied with as much tequila as they want as a bonus. We’re at their mercy. I can understand Cordovan or Taupe. I’m actually used to them and recognize they are real colors. But Moon Goddess? What the hell is that? Actually, it’s a very light yellow-green. Absinthe Mist is a very pale green, and also one of the drinks that Valspar is supplying its team with.
From Carolina Parakeet to Nimbus, from Monet Moonrise to Bordeaux, I was inundated with colors that I couldn’t have told you what they were before going to the color swatches. I was getting so sick that I was turning Pool Table!
For the adventurous type, I suggest Jungle Trail. It’s a dark olive green that instantly makes you want to grab a machete and chop through the brush. In fact, I think Jungle Brush would have been a better color descriptor. If you happen to be hungry, you could always go with Sliced Avocado or Pesto. I went looking for Tuna Fish Sandwich, but they were out. The closest thing I really came to uncovering an actual color was Girl Power Pink! Ugh!
Now, if you want total confusion, you can always go with Dark Green 1. It is the lightest color of green I have ever seen. It’s like a drop of green per gallon of base paint. I think I remember that color once. It’s called white. Of course, you can always choose the Dark Green 6, which is such a dark gray-green that you could almost call it black. And for the red, which was my main goal, I could use Firecracker or Dragon Fire. Both colors didn’t look like they had anything to do with fire, which I’ve always associated with a bright yellow-white, not red.
Now I am going to contact Valspar and beg them to mix a type of pink named My Sister’s a Brat — partly because my sister is a couple of years younger than I am, so it’s the truth. No matter what, my sister’s a brat. But mainly I want that color so she’ll call me after reading this column saying, “I’m not a brat! I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!”
Gotcha, Veigh!
One more reason is that I want to go back to the girl who threw a gallon of paint on me and toss a gallon on her. I think I’ll use My Sister’s a Brat.
Right now, though, that color is called Rapture. Now when the rapture happens, I hope to God that the pearly gates and streets of gold are not that color because no guy wants to be surrounded with that much pink!
Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a wall to paint, and I’m hungry. I think I’ll go with Cumquat.