An ode to mascarpone OR "how I learned to just let go and fall in love with Benjamin Moore AF-20"

I found you. I finally found you after all this time. Amidst the disorienting flurry of 140+ white swatches from Benjamin Moore, I found you like an oasis in the desert. After 66 swatches and one entire week of deliberation, you saved me. I owe you everything, but most especially my sanity.

Oh, AF-20 how do I love thee? Let me count the ways!

I love your colloquial name. Mascarpone. Much more favorable than gross OC-85 Mayonnaise. Sure, I get confused with the placement of that pesky 'r' and I undoubtedly mispronounce you every single time I order another gallon but still. You remind me of your namesake cheese and I love cheese. So much. Almost as much as you. Almost.

I love your perfect white color. A flawless white white if such a thing exists. No purple drops like that weird OC-100 Palace White. Not dingy in artificial light like CC-912 Linen White. You are crisp without being stark. You are creamy and warm without a trace of color. Although, when I was painting in the early morning light I thought for sure you were yellow and I admit, you had me scared shitless. But then you tricked me by drying beautifully. Well played, Mascarpone. Well played.

Oh, AF-20, I love you so much I want to have you forever! I want to paint every surface in your beautiful, warm glow! I am a woman obsessed. I would drink poison and pretend to die so that you could drink poison and really die and we would be together forever. Star-crossed lovers, you and I.

Can't wait to see you in another room soon.
Love always,
P.

p.s. let me also take an opportunity to sing the praises of my very dear pet favorite, Benjamin Moore OC-117, Simply White. You don't have any gray like CC-20 Decorator's White. You are absolutely luscious for a clean, bright bathroom. Thanks to you, bathroom reading material is no longer necessary: I can sit and meditate on the beautiful walls instead.

Blush and Bashful.

Dear Benjamin Moore Paints:

This is what I want listed on the back of your paint swatches: "SIMPLE COLOR NAME: Cool undertones, will clash horrendously with yellows, etc."

This is what I get listed on the back of your paint swatches: "PEACEFUL FLUTTERING DOVE TAIL: OC-117"

So. Re-painting the guest bedroom and bathroom is officially on the list of to-do projects-- mostly because my mom is visiting in two weeks. In my mind's eye, I envision a light, bright -and yet warm- paint palette, flowing effortlessly from the 1940s cottage to the modern extension. [For the record: PB has given official stamp of approval of said vision]

We decided on a clean, white bathroom and neutral bedroom. Simple enough, yes? NO.

I spent an hour at Benjamin Moore, staring at a wall of colors. Oh, and don't be fooled: the "Color Preview" colors are almost entirely the "Classic" colors, but with fancier names. This is a fact, relayed to me by Jeremy, an actual employee of Benjamin Moore Paints. Anyway, what did I leave with? No less than 44 swatches of varying shades of white. White. Based on the fact that apparently, many of them are the same but with different names, I may have only picked up 6 different colors. Who knows....

All I do know is that I spent the rest of my afternoon with swatches taped to the bathroom wall. I would stare at the wall. Turn the lights on. Turn the lights off. Open the window blinds. Close the window blinds. Each time expecting one color to jump out at me. I believe in psychotherapy, repeating the same behavior with the expectation of a different result is a symptom of insanity...

And to make the process more enjoyable, the colors I was scrutinizing carried infuriating names like, "Palace White," "Simply White," "Snowfall White," "Glacier White," and "Atrium White." I feel "Simply White" was positively taunting me. Benjamin Moore, do you have a paint color called, "Blood-Splattering-Head-Wound Red"? Because that's what color the walls will be after the anxiety of choosing between 44 whites forces me to take my own life. Honestly.

All I could do was replay the Steel Magnolia pre-wedding scene in my head: "My colors are blush and bashful." "...Your colors are pink and pink."

Yup. Because when I look at "Vapor" and "Steam" taped to the bathroom wall I can't help but think, "White" and "White."

No.

GAAAAAAAAAAH. Let me paint a picture for you of a less-than-ideal situation:

• Writer completes assignment, 3 days under deadline. Coming in under deadline means life is good: Writer smiles. Believes again in the magicalness of it all, that fantasies can be real-- Santa, Tooth Fairy, an actually funny episode of Glee.
• 72 hours later, 4:00 pm on a holiday weekend Friday, Writer receives email from editor to this effect: "really liked your piece, but the lead felt contrived and doesn't get to the heart of your story. We really need to hook the readers...do you have a colorful anecdote from your source that you could inject into the story? I'll need the rewrite by Tuesday."
  
• Writer then has desire to morph into killer kitty, complete with machine gun and wall of flames. Just kidding. Not really...

Now of course, I'll have the rewrite completed by 5:00 this afternoon (over achiever for life) and I'll send it along with a cheery note of how pleased I am to be of help! When really, I want to explain that no, I do not have a "colorful" anecdote from my source. Because in fact, I'm pretty sure the person I talked to was actually the color gray. Seriously, put me on the phone with a ding-dang-ol' Crayola and I would have gotten more lively material [SEE: post on 'How Not to Phone Interview] And because I would rather read a Dan Brown book [SEE: scraping out my eyeballs and brain cells with a shrimp fork] before calling the nincompoop non-conversationalist again, I will spin a magical tale of greatness from absolutely no new pieces of information.

In other words, I will employ my personal mission statement:

If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.