The Man Behind The Purple Door

My Dad seldom believes anything I say. Not that I tell him anything "outrageous". He, for some reason unknown to me, thinks that I am trying to trick him. When I decided to marry Dan (after knowing him for 3 months or so...and I had only just turned 20), Dad thought I was kidding. When I told him I was moving to Korea, he thought that I was just trying to get a reaction from him. When I told him I was pregnant with twins, Dad refused to be "suckered" into believing me (even when presented with the ultrasound photo). The list of things that Dad doesn't believe goes on and on. The absolutely funny thing is that I always tell Dad the truth. Dad just can't bring himself to believe that I would do the things I do.

Big Sarah and I were out and about one day. I announced that I would like to paint my house yellow. Sunshine yellow. Blow your socks off yellow. Sadly, I live in a semi-detached and it would look ridiculous. Sarah and I had a good think about what we could do instead. I mentioned that there were two people on my street who had just painted their front doors. We drove by the houses and thought "Let's do it! But let's do it brighter!". Also, we would need an "accent" colour. We decided to paint the chairs that I keep on my porch. What colour, you ask? Sunshine yellow!

Prior to painting the door, I called Dad and told him what I was up to. I often consult Dad prior to doing something big. Sadly, he must feel a little like Henry Higgins ("She'll ask me for advice/ My reply will be concise/ She listens very nicely/ Then goes out and does precisely what she wants!"). Poor Dad didn't believe me. I had a perfectly good door that was a perfectly good colour. Dad felt that I was trying to get him to believe that I painted my door so when he came over on the weekend I could shout "Gotcha!" as he exited his car and saw my white door. Dad thinks that I would find this terribly funny (word to the wise, Daddy, I find it much more funny when you don't believe me).

The man who was mixing the paint saw the colour chip and exclaimed "Do you know why I have a bald spot?! Because I have to pull my hair out when people like you come in and tell me that they want to paint their doors these crazy colours!". Bingo! It was then that Sarah and I knew that we had, in fact, chosen exactly the right colour.

Here is my house prior to the improvements that Big Sarah and I made:

And here is the new and improved version:

I know, I know ... you hate it. So does everybody else. But I love it! It's a wee bit of joy that greets me every time I come home. Also, it's a big hit with the three year old crowd.

How does Dan feel about it? He hates it. Can't stand it. Doesn't understand what on Earth would compel me to paint the front door! He doesn't like the purple. He liked the white. It looked "classic". It matched everyone else. It didn't "pop" (who knew that some people think that's a benefit?). He feels that people are going to think we are LA Lakers fans. He's concerned that he will forever be known as The Man Behind the Purple Door.

I remind him of the words that I live by "It matters not what they think of me, but what I think of them".