My nose is running for President of my face. I'm in a grocery store, basket full of bagels, cream cheese, and juice. Tissues. God, do I need tissues. So, I go to the paper goods aisle, and begin staring down the long line of facial tissue boxes. Out of nowhere, the mostly dormant gay part of my brain says I need to get a box whose pattern will mesh most with the colors in my room. And, I think, Hey, this is progress. I could set up a much nicer vibe to my room than the current Pile Of Laundry And Cat Toys (And Cat) ambiance.
This is when I realize, I have no idea what color anything in my room is.