"Oh, that color."

I'm looking at the ribbing of the sweatshirt I'm wearing today. It's a dedicated "small paint sweatshirt".

Why do I keep clothes so long?

The babyshit mustard paint on this shirt, what designers now call "Tuscany gold", is the artefact of a bad yellow color that my mother chose for the house I grew up in. It wasn't badly her fault. She didn't try it before she painted, that's all. She wanted champagne and wound up with light lager. She asked me to paint a door.

This color was for the trim.