Alright, so let me tell you about this whole “flowerpot light blue” saga I went through. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Just a light blue flowerpot. Oh, if only it were that easy. I’ve learned a thing or two, mostly the hard way, as usual.
You see, I’ve been on this weird personal quest for the perfect light blue for what feels like ages. Not baby blue, not that bright sky blue, and definitely not that robin’s egg blue that everyone seems to think is the only light blue in existence. I wanted something specific, something that just, you know, feels… right. And trying to find it ready-made? Forget about it.
Every single time I’d buy something labeled “light blue,” whether it was a cushion or a darn t-shirt, I’d get it home, and under my own lights, it would be too greenish, or too greyish, or just plain… off. It drove me absolutely nuts. Especially with flowerpots. They’re supposed to be these cheerful little things, right? Not a constant reminder of another failed color-matching attempt. So, I finally decided, if you want something done right, you just gotta roll up your sleeves and do it yourself. That’s pretty much how this whole messy project started. Me, a bog-standard terracotta pot, and a stubborn idea.
Getting that Elusive Blue Hue
So, first things first, I marched off to the craft store. I grabbed a whole armful of different blue acrylic paints, a big tube of white, and even a tiny bottle of yellow, just in case things got desperate for tweaking. I honestly thought I was going to be some kind of color-mixing genius. Spoiler alert: I was not. Not even close.
My kitchen counter quickly looked like a Smurf had a very bad accident. I swear, I must have mixed at least twenty different shades of blue on those flimsy paper plates. It was a cycle of pure frustration:
- Too dark. Okay, add more white.
- Whoops, now it’s too pale, like watery milk. Add a tiny bit more blue.
- Darn it, too much blue! Now it looks like that weird cheap toothpaste.
- Right, let’s try a different base blue… still not hitting the mark.
It was a genuine disaster. I wasted so much paint, it’s embarrassing. And my patience? Let’s just say it was wearing thinner than a cheap napkin.
I really, really almost gave up. I was just staring at this sad collection of failed blue blobs, feeling defeated. My partner walked into the kitchen, took one look at the scene – and me, probably looking like a mad scientist – and just slowly backed out of the room without a word. Probably the smartest move they made all day.
You might be sitting there thinking, “Why on earth is this person so ridiculously picky about a simple color?” Well, it’s kind of a long story, but it sort of reminds me of this one time, years ago, when I was trying to match a specific paint chip for a feature wall in my old apartment. The landlord was unbelievably particular, insisted it had to be this exact shade of “mushroom beige,” but of course, his idea of mushroom beige was different from any known mushroom or beige on the planet. I must have trekked back and forth to the hardware store at least five times. Five! Each time, the poor guy at the paint counter would mix it up, I’d rush home, paint a test patch, let it dry, and it would be glaringly, infuriatingly wrong. I swear, by the end of that ordeal, the paint guy knew my entire life story, my dog’s name, everything. He probably still uses me as an example of a problem customer. This flowerpot thing felt just like that, a flashback, only this time, the impossible standard was my own. No one else to blame, just me and my incredibly stubborn vision of “light blue.”
The Actual Painting and the Big Reveal
Anyway, back to the flowerpot. After what honestly felt like an eternity of mixing and muttering to myself – though it was probably just a couple of very intense, frustrating hours – I finally landed on something. It wasn’t absolutely, 100% perfect to what I had imagined in my head, but it was close. Close enough that I didn’t feel the urge to hurl the entire project, pot and all, out the nearest window.
So, I cleaned up that dusty terracotta pot properly, even gave it a light sanding like some tutorial on the internet suggested – probably to help the paint stick, who knows. Then, I started painting. The first coat looked pretty streaky and awful, which I kind of expected. The second coat, though, started to look much better. I actually ended up doing three thin coats, just to be super sure it was even and opaque. Then came the hardest part of any painting project: waiting for it to dry. It’s like watching water boil, or grass grow, pure agony.
And you know what? When it was finally, completely dry, it turned out pretty darn good. Really good, in fact, if I do say so myself. It’s this lovely, soft, calming light blue. Not too bright, not too dull, just… right. It’s now sitting proudly on my windowsill, holding a little spider plant, and every single time I look at it, I feel this ridiculous wave of satisfaction and, honestly, a bit of smugness.
So yeah, that was my grand “flowerpot light blue” adventure. Definitely more effort and drama than I initially bargained for, that’s for sure. But hey, now I have a completely unique flowerpot that nobody else has, and I guess I learned that I either have the patience of a saint or, more likely, just a stubborn streak a mile wide when it comes to getting colors just so. Next time, though? I might just be tempted to buy a plain white pot and call it a day. Or… maybe not. We’ll see how I feel.
