Not Too Close

My Husband Moscato

She had no idea what she was talking about. It was clear that I was dealing with lack of virtuosity here. It really ruffled my feathers but it was clearly my job to corner this predicament. It's just that this--this lady was terrible.

"Don't you think so too?" This women, Mrs. Pacchiani swore she had created the best of the best interior. Her husband face twisted, it only meant he agreed with me.

"Tesoro, don't you think Ms.Adams should decide? After all, you did want this right?"

"Yes but honey, this would be a perfect match. The kitchen will just canterà." Her fingers grazed over the dark green and brown palettes.

Not with those colors.

Mr. Pacchiani gave his wife a sympathetic look. You can just tell he wanted to disagree with her but he wanted to make her happy and he was willing to bite his tongue under the circumstances.

"Whatever you like my tesoro."

I guess I had to save the day.

"I love how you put those two together Mrs. Pacchiani."

"You do?" Her husband gave me a look of disbelief.

"Of course she does Sam. Women are usually the creative ones anyway." She shrugged her husband off satisfied.

Now she's really letting it get to her head.

"I do but I also think that the colors don't compliment each other at all and you want that."

"I do?" Mrs. Pacchiani looked up in thought.

"You do." I guided her to their new kitchen that had yet to be embellished.

I glanced at Mr. Pacchiani and he mouthed a thank you with his hands clasped together.

I acknowledged his appreciation with a nod and wink.

"I see that you're into vintage."

"Can you really?" Her smile expanded. "I mean people tell me that I remind them of a-"

"Hipster?"

"Hipster, hippie, gypsy. Call it what you please but I honestly don't see it in me."

"Ya don't say!" My eyebrows raised as I looked at her light green raincoat that were covered in zippers. The black t-shirt that labeled in white bubble letters: Last Clean Shirt. Her shorts with stockings and her red combat boots.

Could have fooled me.

She looked no older than me. Maybe even younger. Twenty six, seven? Only information I obtained from the two was that they recently married, moved from Italy and they were expecting a baby.

"Nope, not the slightest." I watched as she fixed her black broom bristle straight hair under the brown beanie.

That reminds me.

Mrs. Pacchiani wanted--and I hate to say it but a shitty kitchen, literally. The colors insulted each other. Dark brown she had picked reminded me what I had stepped in the day of my run up the Mississippi mountains two weeks ago. The muddy green had me picture the horse manure that mixed in with the grass that the landscapers put in the garden twice every 3 weeks. I needed to introduce her to some better colors. Once I'm done with that we can talk about the interior styles.

Baby steps with this one.

"You guys take care now. Enjoy the rest of the evening. Call me whenever you're ready."

"You too Ms. Adams. I honestly appreciate your help." Mr.Pacchiani shook my hand and I made a move to shake Mrs. Pacchiani's hand but she tackled me with a hug.