My husband picked me up from the tube last night - which was nice of him. But what wasn't nice of him was that, without telling me he had painted the front door a bright, bright blue so that when we pulled up outside I nearly had heart failure. 'What have you done?' 'How could you...' 'No I don't like it!' I saw red, despite the blueness: it felt like such a violation!

My colleagues at work were sympathetic, and it was pointed out to me that the blue itself is not ghastly. I know it would look nice on some front doors, but the fact is that I had other ideas for mine - I was thinking of a nice muted pale pink from Farrow & Ball; there is a pale pink in the stained glass. There is also green and burgundy, which I could easily live with and which would actually go with the door.

I feel like putting up a sign saying: I did not choose this colour! I avoided my neighbour this morning because I felt I would have to explain that it wasn't me who painted the thing. My husband is now so upset with me that I've had to shut up for the time being. The kids started backing him up (arghh!) saying how nice it looked. My question is, how long shall I give it before I head in there with a new colour? I do value my marriage but I really, really, really (did I mention really) can't stand the door like this. I'm just grateful he didn't paint the inside of it as well! There should a be a word for victims suffering home decor they can't abide, that's inflicted on them by well-meaning loved ones. Anyone else experienced it? It hurts, doesn't it?

Carol (I hate my front door) Muskoron