Midday Banana Brown

What color is your palette?

I have this dream, and in it I speak and people know what I’m talking about.

In real life I want to paint the dining room. I want a nice, warm beige but when I go to Home Depot to discuss color swatches the gum-smacker in the orange jacket shows me swatch after swatch that is neither warm nor beige. And all the colors have names such as “Tahiti Bark” or “Ozone.”

Finally I say, “You know, Midday Banana Brown.”

In real life I get a blank stare, but in my dream the woman behind the counter lights up and says, “Oh! You mean like the color of a banana after a toddler has smashed it on her plate and gone to take her morning nap, and since this is your one chance today to shower, you don’t discover it again until lunch. We’ve got that color but we call it “Nantucket Sand.”

And that’s when the dream gets really good. The woman and I find colors for each room in the house. We pick out “Organic Applesauce” for the hallway and “Soggy Cheerios” for the guest bedroom.

“I need a dark finish for the mantle. What have you got?”

“Well, the rest of the world calls it ‘Ebony,’ but you’ll recognize it as ‘Meconium.’”

“Perfect. That reminds me, I think I’d like to paint the bathroom in ‘Colostrum.’”

“Excellent choice, ma’am. Sunny, creamy, bright. You can’t go wrong with ‘Colostrum.’ It’s all the rage this season.”

She helps me pick out a rug for the living room. We argue about its pinkish hue. She thinks its “Day Three of Teething Gums,” but I think it’s really more like “Ruddy Cheeks of a Low-grade Fever.” I’m looking for a neutral color for the walls; we settle on a lovely white I like to think of as “Neck Cheese.” The dining room is a no-brainer. Our dining set is upholstered in a dark mustardy yellow, so we find a nice muted “Breast milk Poo” for the walls and “Original Sugar-free Pedialyte” for the molding.

But, alas, it’s only a dream. In real life I’m stuck with palette strips that boast colors such as “Bitter Sea foam” or “Burnt Morose” or “Sedona Wind.” No one knows what I’m talking about when I ask for a dull “Earwax Orange.”

At one point I call home to get my husband’s input on a hallway runner.

“They call it ‘Ancient Eggplant.’” I tell him.

“What color is that?”

“It’s like Earth’s Best’s Prunes and Oatmeal.”

Pause.

“Oh. I like that color. That’ll work just fine.”

If nothing else, at least my husband and I speak a common language.