You literally have to part the stuff stuck on our refrigerator to see what color it is, which is partly by design since it dates to the last remodeling of the kitchen, probably ten years before we bought the place, so it's either a) Avocado b) Harvest Gold or c) Coppertone. I forget which.
I dunno. I think I have a need for inconvenience as a counterweight to congenital indolence. Or as an excuse not to accomplish much. It took me a long time to come to terms with the remote. I've become reasonably skilled at home repair in large part because that excuses never calling a repairman. My Poor Wife is okay with this, I think. We're both packrats. Although it just may be she hasn't yet figured out how to make my death look like an accident.
Anyway, part of the refrigerator effluvia consists of two or three sets of those magnetic alphabets, and the game is to very rarely change the (frequently scabrous) message and see how long it takes for the other one to notice it.
For a long time now the freezer door has been labelled "Where Is Ken Jennings". It dates to about a week after his loss. My Poor Wife loves Ken. The Jeopardy! Tournament of Champions thing going on now is like slow foreplay to her, but I think if Ken doesn't show up soon she's gonna finish without him. I'm trying to think of a new message.