The principal bedroom is in the rear of the house, with terrible north-western exposure. The morons who lived here before painted it this suicide-inducing brown that looks like cheap foundation smeared on a polo-shirt collar. Something must be done, and something will be done—in a few weeks, actually. I can’t do the deep aquas and darkish blues; the room is just too dark for them. But the whites, the lovely whites that will hopefully mitigate some of the dismal Canadian winter mornings? Bring them on, bring them on by the bucketful. It’s so lovely to choose paint knowing that no matter what you pick, you can’t do any worse than what’s already on the wall.
And for what it’s worth: Yes, I really do need a boot box to hold all my paint chips.