So it was time to begin painting our old farmhouse. 

I stopped at Sherwin Williams in town with my blue paint chip in my hot little hand, the one I'd taped beside the huge bay windows to watch the effect of the light upon it all day.

I'd made up my mind to buy a low-toxic paint this time, first time ever, so I walked into the store and asked the salesman if they carried one of the new low-toxic paints. He reached for a can on the shelf and gave me a neat little spiel about how it was low in this and that, plus, it was 25 percent off price-wise. Nice. I was out of there in less than five minutes.

But on Saturday, also on my way out to the farmhouse, I first stopped at our local Value Home Center to see if they, also, had a low-toxic paint, but perhaps for a bit cheaper. A rather elderly salesman asked if he could help me, so I asked if they carried a low-toxic paint.

Immediately, I was sorry I asked.

He rolled his eyes and told me all paints are safe. Well, except for oil paints. With virtually all paints, the smell disappears within 24 hours. ("That's not the point," I thought to myself. "I want to inhale the least amount of toxins each time I dip my brush into the bucket and stand nose-to-wall.")

He went on to say that oh, yes, (a certain company) carries paint which they say is safer (he smirked), but he'd heard they were all junk. "You're practically going back to the days of milk paint and that stuff was poor." Then he laughed.

I thought, "Most likely, this guy thinks 'going green' is a big fat joke and anyone who eats organic is a deluded moron."

After just nodding, smiling and stepping away, I tried matching a different paint chip to one of theirs, but couldn't and this salesman guy practically hovered over my back. He spoke as though I'd never painted a wall in my life. I felt about 20 years old (and not in a good way, either).  ツ

Oh brother. As soon as he walked away, so did I. Right out the door.

Why am I sharing this? Because if I was like I once was, I'd have argued with him about trying to stay away from as many toxins as possible. That's it's not just about the scent of wet paint, but a lot more. I'd have told him about my success with the lower-toxic paint I'd bought from Sherwin Williams--how, even on an incredibly humid day, it had covered super well. I'd have told him I'd been painting rooms for 30 years and knew my way around a paint can and a paint brush. I'd have said, "Just humor me, all right? Grab a can off the shelf and tell me it's the safest one your store makes."

All spoken sweetly-with-an-edge, of course, but I'd have told him.

But you know what that urge is called, don't you? It's an urge called Pride. Pride of having to defend oneself so the other guy doesn't think you're an idiot. Having to make certain that people understand you because hey, your opinions matter.

But yesterday when I considered saying any of the clever retorts swirling around my brain, I just sighed. Spouting off seemed way too tiring and a waste of time. There was no way I was gonna change this guy's mind, so why try? He'd been around longer than I have and--most likely--is one of those people who believe, "if it hasn't killed me after all these years, then there must be nothing wrong with it."

If I'd felt God nudging me say to something, I would have, ok?

But alas, no nudges. No anything. So I said nothing. And I walked out to the car rejoicing that I'd kept my mouth shut, because for me, Honey, that's progress.

Big-time progress. And big-time freedom, as well.

******

Here's an article about saving money at the supermarket (I've been reading this kind of stuff for 30 years and never tire of it).

Here's an article I found interesting about saving money on buying organic food.