Some time ago, right after I moved in here, I bought some great midcentury modern wallpaper to put in the kitchen. The kitchen project was stalled until this week, when I had a few extra days off work.
So down came the horrible masonite on the walls. I taped and mudded and sanded and primed and put up the first wall's worth of paper.
The Kitchen said, "What the hell do you think you're doing?
I replied, "Putting up wallpaper. What does it look like I'm doing?"
The Kitchen snapped, "I hate that stuff. Take it down right the hell now."
ME: Buuuhhh...buuuhhh....I like this wallpaper!
KITCHEN: *I* don't. I'm not Midcentury Modern, you idiot; I'm Postwar Cute!
ME: Uh...there's a difference?
KITCHEN: Well, duuuuhhh. Yeah.
ME: So what's Postwar Cute?
KITCHEN: Take a look at me, Bozo! I've got glass-fronted cabinets and wide woodwork and high ceilings! Lots of cute cabinets! I need small-figured wallpaper with a chair rail and white paint, not this uber-modern faux Fifties crap!
KITCHEN: Take. It. Down. Now. Or you'll never cook in this town again.
So I took it down. We eventually compromised: white walls with stencilled, multicolored polka dots in cascade, painted in Fiestaware colors.
Which means the kitchen won't be done before Wednesday, when my time off ends. Dammit.
You know, I used to be sure my mom was crazy when she told me that every room in the house told her what color to paint it. I'm not so sure now.