He would always had to make a joke when Mr. Davis came over. He would sneer, prodding his wife, who would respond with a hyena-like cackle, “Bright enough for you, Victoria?!”She had not improved. Rather than making jokes, she would simply give me a sympathetic glance and ask, “Victoria, have you ever considered changing it? Perhaps something more impartial?”
Like my house needed to have its individuality surgically removed since it was such an ugly.Their contempt was immediately apparent. They behaved as though the colour of my house were rainbow sprinkles on a funeral plate. Mrs. Davis approached me one day as I was planting petunias. Her finger was neatly manicured as she pointed at my house with a smile as bright as a soggy Tuesday. “Victoria, that colour is so ugly! It goes with everything! It must be removed. For a change, how about something like… beige…?” she exclaimed.I arched an eyebrow while holding a watering can. “Mrs. Davis, is that the reason for the commotion outside?” The looks on people’s faces led me to believe that a UFO had touched down. But it’s only a tiny bit of paint!”“A tiny bit of paint? Our neighbourhood appears to have been invaded by a gigantic banana! Consider the worth of your property! You must be able to see how… gaudy it is, she scowled.I tried to remain composed and shook my head.
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