The kitchen cabinets don’t look white to me. They look cream. The stone looks white, the fixtures look white, the ceiling and the doors look white, but the cabinets look cream. I confronted the kitchen designer on this point when he came to pick up his check. I said, I’m concerned that the cabinets aren’t white, and I threw my sword down at the ground where it stuck, quivering. I shouted, Prove yourself a man! He grabbed the sword and we began to fight. It’s Decorator White, he said. There are lots of shadows in here. He feinted. I said, I looked at it at night and in the day and it doesn’t look white. No one could have made a mistake? I stabbed. He said, No, it’s definitely Decorator White, and I said, throwing my sword from my right hand to my left, You knew my stone was Carrera! He was unprepared for an attack coming from this side and I slashed his arm, drawing blood, which shocked both of us. He fell back against the cabinets, smearing red across them, and I approached, to finish him off. But he was playing, from his supine position he disarmed me, and I was forced to swear my fealty to him, and to Decorator White, and to say that I am happy having cream-colored cabinets, and in fact will call them white from now on, and so on.