“What is the one color you would never use to paint your room?” he asked.
“Brown,” I said without missing a beat.
“It’s so dull and depressing. Waking up to that every morning is not something I imagine is a pleasant experience.”
My answer niggled at my mind for the rest of the day. As if I had lied. I had given that answer without so much as a thought; aren’t answers you give without thinking often the truth? Why then did that answer feel like a blunder? After all, there were actual blunders I could waste time pondering over and feeling foolish.
I reached home, exhausted after a long walk, and plopped into bed. It was then that I noticed the walls.
Why had this never registered before?