I fortuitously rented an apartment in San Francisco in 2010. This was probably the best thing I ever did. It is a wonderful place.
There are four bedrooms, a big kitchen, bathroom, and an outside porch that houses the washing machine, the dryer and James’ workshop. From my room I look right out onto the Panhandle. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panhandle_(San_Francisco)
The Panhandle has the oldest trees in San Francisco, they are big and beautiful.
Anyway, the room has not had a good clean for 8 years or so and I determine to repaint it. I buy a can of paint that has eggshell written on it. The slightly off white beigey color of my imagined eggshell is the shade I am looking for.
This is no good as it makes the room surgical and the wonderful white door surrounds, window surrounds and associated beading are lost. I finish painting the whole room thinking that this will make a good undercoat for the next attempt.
I go to the paint shop on Divisadero and scrutinize the color charts minutely. I find a shade that corresponds to my dream color of muted sand and tramp home with the paint.
Anyway, I paint the whole room again and it actually looks good. However I cannot sleep at night. I toss and turn and groan through nightmares of the landlady throwing us out of the apartment because I have broken the contract by painting the room, which indeed we are not strictly allowed to do. The chrome yellow would be seen immediately, no way can I keep it a secret, so it has to go.
This time James chooses the color at the paint shop. He is an artist, he understands pigment.
So I paint the room 3 times in 2 weeks.