My House Painting Project Has Taken Me Longer Than Expected
THE SONIC BOOMER
I woke up last Friday and felt great. I felt so great that I wondered how deeply I was immersed in the worldly monotony of the pandemic without realizing it. But like I said, I felt great that day.
With renewed enthusiasm, fueled by caffeine and without any concern about the enormity of the job, I decided to paint the house.
I put on my painting clothes (my favorite clothes that fit me best and that have taken me through hell and back), jumped in the car, and drove to the paint shop. Even though it’s backwards, I decided to paint the siding first in the hopes that Mark would then be inspired to light the sprayer and get the rest of the house done quickly.
Came home, opened the can and dipped into the brush. Also backwards. I needed a lot more stuff. So I wrapped the brush in plastic wrap and put it in the refrigerator (an old painter’s trick that prevents it from drying out) and gathered a tarp, ladder, damp rag, stirrer, and screwdriver. I got the brush and started on the porch railing.
Making the porch railing is fun. It’s instant gratification. It looks clean and white, and you get a lot of attention from your neighbors as they drive by, honk and wave. Whenever you see an advertisement for paint on TV, the happy homeowner always paints the railing, never the four sides or the 52 spindles or the bottom of the railing or the insect infested grating. No, it’s always the top of the railing. (When they’re inside, it’s the part of the wall that is right in front of their face, never the back corner of the closet.) On TV, nobody’s butt is up while their hair is falling into their eyes.
However, I finished the porch and a window. (Don’t you love those 16 tiny slices? Yeah, I used to.) Then I fell into bed with the remote control, a bottle of wine, and a bag of party-sized potato chips.
Amazingly, I woke up in the same good mood the next day. I went back to the paint shop after making up my mind to paint the front door this time. I read somewhere that if you sell your house if the front door is painted black you will get more for your house. I don’t want to sell my house, but I wanted it to look more valuable, black as it was.
I collected the brush, tarpaulin, wet rag from the ladder, stirrer, screwdriver, and pillow (for my knees – I learned that the day before) and went to work. I got the screen door off its hinges and dropped it on the lawn. Whoomp! I didn’t want a nice, functional screen door to get in the way of my visual masterpiece. Then I started painting. Do you know how many layers of black paint it takes to cover a white door? More than two. And again with the 16 tiny discs.
At the end of the day, I dropped into my bed with the remote control, the leftover wine and the flaky scraps from yesterday’s bag of potato chips. I tried pouring them straight from the bag into my mouth, but after pouring some scraps of potatoes on my bed sheets, I decided to save time by just pouring the fries into the wine.
Don’t try this at home. Or anywhere. It doesn’t look good and pretty much screams, “I just don’t care.” There is guilt attached to it, but I have not suffered any of it. I slept
PS: week two and Mark still wasn’t inspired to join me.
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