Yesterday. Home improvement store. Picking out paint.
I have oak cabinets (yes, I will take your sympathy vote now) and repainting them is the same cost as replacing and I am not willing to do that - I would rather spend the money on the appliances. So, I'm working with the oak....as much as I hate it.
My kitchen needs some updates, a new sink, fresh coat of lighter paint, yada yada. Do I need granite?
What? She shows me a maroon paint sample. Yes, like dark red. Barf. I blurt out - "I hate that. I'm sorry, that makes me sick, I hate it. With wood??"
He sticks to his crimson guns. Yeah, it would be great, he says.
After negotiation, we finally get the samples I want (linen, burlap, and Woodrow Wilson something) and I am almost on my way but he starts telling me about his son (I think it was my R2D2 phone cover).
"Oh, how old is he?" My mistake.
From there he tells me this story about how his kid is a demon (his own child?) and how he is trying to terrorize his girlfriend all the time. Ooooookkkkaayyyyyy...... pleasepleasepleasestophere.....
"Yeah well, we were having "mommy and daddy time" ".....Oh my god, please no.......
Mr. Paint continues to tell me how they were "getting intimate," complete with air quotes Matt Foley style, and his son popped the lock with a butter knife and caught them in the act.
Also - you just told a total stranger this story. At your place of work.
And this, my friends......is why, people are crazy.