Living in a tiny single-wide named Van Dyke had gotten to be a comedy. The old song and dance was at its last curtain call and the coyote orchestra were packing up their instruments to jam on the next skyline. The tip-out misdirected the applauding swallows to nest in cavities inhabited by bats, as arrogant black hornets indented the thin inner walls with their foreheads.
After scrimping and saving, robbing Peter to pay Paul, my wife and I decided to shop for a new home. We mistakenly put our heads together. I then became a devout disciple of Dave Barry. I knew I was masculine and she was feminine, as far apart and close together as Republicans and Democrats. I was loyal, helpful, courteous , kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent. She was reverent, clean, brave, thrifty, cheerful, obedient, kind, courteous, helpful and loyal. Our dreams of an ideal house was in two separate worlds.
I thought of square footage. She thought of a doll house with large plants placed in locations of importance and function. She envisioned a sunroom with skylights and windows. I thought of a mud room where I could strip after a hot day.
Our house was delivered in halves, on wheels, ready for assembly. I chose the month of February because it had greatest rebate of the year. She thought it might be inconvenient.
It was required by the county to move the nasty Van Dyke off the home site. After weeks of a leaky tent trailer, freezing weather, three dogs and a wet cat, you can guess the rest. It is another sad story never to be spoken of again.
In three days, the manufactured home arrived and our house would be united.
The marriage beam sealed, I thought our family would be together again.
Just as during the reconstruction years of the civil war, like an assassin in Ford's theater, she said, "Will the walls be painted before the carpet is laid, dear?" Paint the walls? They already are painted a factory white. I thought, why paint again? If the rug-layer comes on Monday, I'll have only the weekend to finish the job or move the furniture later and paint over new rug. ...UUgghhhhh. My mind started rolling, estimating the cost of 5-gallon buckets and the rental of a 3-horse power sprayer deluxe.
She wanted an off-colored pink for warmth and vivaciousness, the soft pink of her wedding gown. So I got sample cards from the local paint stores. The shades she selected were all the same to me. I could not bear the humiliation of having "Cupcake Pink" or "French Burgundy Petite" on my walls.
I drove 95 miles to the paint-store capitol of the world. Yes sir, I was in the pink!! Young Ivan was in his first week of the paint department. He excused himself politely to gain reference material. Returning with a smile he said, "I have a paint made by mistake. We have 4 gallons of Dove-wing Rouge, sell it to you cheap."
"No".
"Three gallons of Maple Leaf Rust, half price."
"No, too dark."
"Snapdragon pink, the scales dilate in the skylight as the shadows move across the room." He heard a deep groaning like a coming storm.
I laid the samples on the counter, their labels ripped off as I grabbed the clerk's collar and said, "I need a man's pink!"
Ivan thought for a moment with his elbows on the countertop and fingers pressing his temples. "The color of Tiffany grass heads in hot summer with the softness of a baby bird-dog's tummy. Strong as a bone and light as a tainted moon. Raising up as if struck with revelation, strong as armor," he says. "Ivanhoe, strong as armor for a man like you! Ivanhoe! Ivanhoe Ivory!!!" We shook hands firmly rejoicing.
It's all in the name. Ivanhoe Ivory, perfect (and pink). I rented my sprayer with pride and prejudice.