That blotch

This morning's 100 words:

There's peach-colored paint smudged on the white ceiling of the room I'm writing in, splotches left of a long-ago paint job my husband did very late one night, just before we were leaving to go on summer vacation. He was so tired, the paint splotch tells me, but a mean-spirited voice in my head taunts, "He was lazy, too, for making a mess, for not cleaning it up." I stare at that splotch, that blotch, that blemish above me nearly every day as I write, as I search for ideas and inspiration from the ceiling and beyond.

Paint

Today's 100 words:

When I was young, probably around six, my parents painted my bedroom walls. I remember begging them to use purple paint, as I couldn't imagine anything better than sleeping in a big purple cave. I wanted a dark, strong purple--none of those lavenders for me. I even lobbied that since the high school's colors were purple and white, painting my room purple would show school support. My parents just shook their heads, and when they opened the paint cans they'd brought from the store, I saw pink, and all my thoughts of purple dreams evaporated. I was in love.

Now that I'm older, pink just isn't one of my favorites. It's my daughter's, though, and our house is jam-packed with toys and clothes in various shades of pink. But no pink walls, though--at least not yet!