The perimeter walls around our village home are sixteen feet high, and so is the gate at the front. There is a smaller one for passing on foot within the larger one. When the house was newly built by late husband R, the gate was painted a lighter shade of blue. I didn’t object to the color as long I had finally acquired a home in the village, and what I had inside our home.
Husband’s younger brother A had gotten married, and with A, Mrs A, mother and father in law, their home had no further space left for us (husband, two kids and myself). I was so happy at having my own home to come to, when we made our frequent excursions to our village. It was wonderful to have everything in place.
The year before last the outside of the house was in a pretty bad shape. Since R’s death in 2012, and myself being away the house went from bad to worse. While buying the paints for the house, unbeknown to me, the painter had slipped in a metallic shade of dark grey color for the gate.
It simply looked awful when I first looked at the new color on the gate. I was dismayed, and angry with the painter at the thought of spending additional money on revamping the color. A day, or two later when I came to pay the workers, the color had dried, and looked different from the initial color. It looked much better, and I was happy at not spending more money on it.
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