I was about to launch myself at another wall that was crying out for new paint, but my usual painting clothes were in to be washed.

Catch up laundry…get the walls painted.  No contest there.

I pulled out a pair of jeans with no knees and an old shirt I’ve never liked, and got to work.

My son saw me, and did a double-take.  Given that his manners are better than his mother’s, he said,

“Nice Shirt.”

I laughed, thanked him, and said it was a nice shirt, but one I was okay painting in since it never suited me.

He nodded, looking sage.  “I didn’t think so.  You’re not one of those…flowery people.”