Stupid arguments with himself/herself

pickarooney

"Let's repaint the bathroom" she said.
Not the worst idea in the world - between the flaking and the black mold it was becoming a bit unsightly.
"There should be enough left in the tub in the shed to cover it."
"Ah no, not white. White is boring."
There followed a brief exchange of irreconcilable ideas.
"Azure?", she posits, in French, with a long, pouty 'u'.
Azure... azure skies, blue like the sky, it could just fly. I'll get right on it.
The paint shop has many blues, their names are all in Dutch. Hemelblauw sounds about right and the shade-sticker looks promising. A medium-sized tin should do the trick.
I pop the tin open at home, proud as punch.
"What... is that?"
"It's azure, my love, blue as a siamese cat's eyes, blue as a summer sky."
"That's not azure, you eejit." The word is both doubly condescending and forgivably cute with a Gallic twist.
"Of course it's azure. Look, sky-blue, hemelblauw". The paintmakers are on my side, honey.
The look on her face is textbook John McEnroe. Azure... I think now of the Italian football team, their shirts a deep Savoy-royal blue and try reconcile that regal hue with this pale imitation.
"The sky is not that colour", she harrumphs.
It is though, I've seen enough skies in my time to know exactly what washed-out shade of baby-boy blue they come in.
"Look", I say, pointing out of the window and up into the heavens. The sky is its habitual sulky grey.
I toss the pot out the door and watch its contents slither dowards the drain. The clouds will take care of that.

Months later, we emigrated.

cHaTbOx

the Cuckoo's Nest would love you:)

AckwelFoley

mmkay,

are you drinking at this moment in time?

cHaTbOx

pickarooney wrote: »

I toss the pot out the door and watch its contents slither dowards the drain. The clouds will take care of that.

Did you smoke the pot?

pickarooney

pickarooney wrote: »

"Let's repaint the bathroom" she said.
Not the worst idea in the world - between the flaking and the black mold it was becoming a bit unsightly.
"There should be enough left in the tub in the shed to cover it."
"Ah no, not white. White is boring."
There followed a brief exchange of irreconcilable ideas.
"Azure?", she posits, in French, with a long, pouty 'u'.
Azure... azure skies, blue like the sky, it could just fly. I'll get right on it.
The paint shop has many blues, their names are all in Dutch. Hemelblauw sounds about right and the shade-sticker looks promising. A medium-sized tin should do the trick.
I pop the tin open at home, proud as punch.
"What... is that?"
"It's azure, my love, blue as a siamese cat's eyes, blue as a summer sky."
"That's not azure, you eejit." The word is both doubly condescending and forgivably cute with a Gallic twist.
"Of course it's azure. Look, sky-blue, hemelblauw". The paintmakers are on my side, honey.
The look on her face is textbook John McEnroe. Azure... I think now of the Italian football team, their shirts a deep Savoy-royal blue and try reconcile that regal hue with this pale imitation.
"The sky is not that colour", she harrumphs.
It is though, I've seen enough skies in my time to know exactly what washed-out shade of baby-boy blue they come in.
"Look", I say, pointing out of the window and up into the heavens. The sky is its habitual sulky grey.
I toss the pot out the door and watch its contents slither dowards the drain. The clouds will take care of that.

Months later, we emigrated.

When she said "Let's repaint the bathroom" you should reply "Fine. Off you go so." That will stop the discussion about what paint, what brush, what to put down on the ground, etc. etc. etc.

Caoimhín

I know they like the wine in France, but 8.30 am?

Really man, theres no need to go totally native.

Naos

Pickarooney I see where you're coming from. Twas but an example of a stupid arguement kind boardsies.

I'm just back in work after a few days off sick, so too tired to think of an example, alas I shall return to this thread in the near future.

c - 13

Ah yes, The good old paint colour argument. I remember my parents almost killing each other over the "Egyptian sand" paint that went into the kitchen.

She claimed it was darker than the test pot he had put up.
He claimed that it said "Egyptian sand" on the tin .

It turned out after much arguing and too-ing and fro-ing to the hardware shop that they had been out of colour testers for the colour so the guy had mixed one (with the old style measure machine) and had added too little dark tint to the colour.

The kitchen was repainted something completely different about a month later.

Burial

What no drugs/hookers or violence??

Earthhorse

Translation: I have a hot French girlfriend. We have silly arguments about nothing and then make love with reckless abandon; paint still on our hands and faces. The kind of love that you, Irish, will never understand.

TestTransmission

pickarooney wrote: »

"Let's repaint the bathroom" she said.
Not the worst idea in the world - between the flaking and the black mold it was becoming a bit unsightly.
"There should be enough left in the tub in the shed to cover it."
"Ah no, not white. White is boring."
There followed a brief exchange of irreconcilable ideas.
"Azure?", she posits, in French, with a long, pouty 'u'.
Azure... azure skies, blue like the sky, it could just fly. I'll get right on it.
The paint shop has many blues, their names are all in Dutch. Hemelblauw sounds about right and the shade-sticker looks promising. A medium-sized tin should do the trick.
I pop the tin open at home, proud as punch.
"What... is that?"
"It's azure, my love, blue as a siamese cat's eyes, blue as a summer sky."
"That's not azure, you eejit." The word is both doubly condescending and forgivably cute with a Gallic twist.
"Of course it's azure. Look, sky-blue, hemelblauw". The paintmakers are on my side, honey.
The look on her face is textbook John McEnroe. Azure... I think now of the Italian football team, their shirts a deep Savoy-royal blue and try reconcile that regal hue with this pale imitation.
"The sky is not that colour", she harrumphs.
It is though, I've seen enough skies in my time to know exactly what washed-out shade of baby-boy blue they come in.
"Look", I say, pointing out of the window and up into the heavens. The sky is its habitual sulky grey.
I toss the pot out the door and watch its contents slither dowards the drain. The clouds will take care of that.

Months later, we emigrated.

wtf

gaz wac

I painted a balloon before, let it dry and then burst it, the paint looked like it was the foreskin of a dead horse.

p.s it was red not sky blue

OP did you ever paint a balloon?

Burial

the innuendo in here is crazy!

dodgyme

pickarooney wrote: »

"Let's repaint the bathroom" she said.
Not the worst idea in the world - between the flaking and the black mold it was becoming a bit unsightly.
"There should be enough left in the tub in the shed to cover it."
"Ah no, not white. White is boring."
There followed a brief exchange of irreconcilable ideas.
"Azure?", she posits, in French, with a long, pouty 'u'.
Azure... azure skies, blue like the sky, it could just fly. I'll get right on it.
The paint shop has many blues, their names are all in Dutch. Hemelblauw sounds about right and the shade-sticker looks promising. A medium-sized tin should do the trick.
I pop the tin open at home, proud as punch.
"What... is that?"
"It's azure, my love, blue as a siamese cat's eyes, blue as a summer sky."
"That's not azure, you eejit." The word is both doubly condescending and forgivably cute with a Gallic twist.
"Of course it's azure. Look, sky-blue, hemelblauw". The paintmakers are on my side, honey.
The look on her face is textbook John McEnroe. Azure... I think now of the Italian football team, their shirts a deep Savoy-royal blue and try reconcile that regal hue with this pale imitation.
"The sky is not that colour", she harrumphs.
It is though, I've seen enough skies in my time to know exactly what washed-out shade of baby-boy blue they come in.
"Look", I say, pointing out of the window and up into the heavens. The sky is its habitual sulky grey.
I toss the pot out the door and watch its contents slither dowards the drain. The clouds will take care of that.

Months later, we emigrated.

i've told you about paint fumes before FFS

Turd Ferguson

In Soviet Russia, bathroom paints you..