Boy, what a week we have had! Charlie was in Oklahoma last week (again this week), and Nana's been here crackin' the whip and takin' names! I have some pics and a video for you but guess what? My USB ports - she no worky.
So Day one last week, we decided to repaint the kids bathroom. It's really dark in there. Yes, the builder was right and I was wrong. It's a little like being in a cave. (This is where I would insert the first pic. Can I tell you how frustrating it is when things don't work and you can't figure out why? I blame Microsoft.) So we looked over some paint chips. I'm looking for something with a gold undertone instead of the Everyday Taupe I've got everywhere in the entire house. So we picked Cocoa Creamy for the sink area, and Whipped Cream Topping for the Tub/Shower/Toilet area. Which doesn't sound all that gold toned now that I see it on paper. Once we got it on the walls, it's basically white and off-white. But getting it on the walls...that's where my story begins.
We decide to go to the local hardware store where the trade-off is the paint costing thirty bucks a can, versus driving all the way to Lowe's and using a half a tank of gas or better. So we go get the paint, but go over to Walmart for our other supplies so we don't buy seven dollar a roll tape. We drive back home and I open up the passenger side door and BOOM! the can of Whipped Cream Topping falls out, hits the driveway and explodes everywhere. My stomach cramped up immediately. First Charlie's gonna give me hell for getting paint on the driveway. I say "CHARLIE'S GONNA KILL ME!", which really doesn't mean he's gonna kill me, or even so much that he'll be mad at me. What I mean to say is "Charlie's gonna be really irritated that I got paint on the driveway and he's never gonna let me hear the end of it for the rest of my life.". He's gonna say "Why did you have the paint stacked in the back seat? Why didn't you put it the back." Which brings up point number two, and that is, that I couldn't put the paint in the back because it was full of the recycles. Recycles that I haven't taken to the Reclamation station since before Thanksgiving because the Reclamation Stations is only open on Thursday, Friday and every third Saturday of the vernal equinox unless such time as it might be raining or a First Monday or holidays or Your Momma.... Charlie hates that I try to recycle all the paper and cardboard because it takes up a huge space in the garage, it's a pain in the butt and I never get it taken. Every time I say "Well take it this Saturday! You and me! It'll be a blast!", and then we haul it over there and sure enough it's the third Saturday of the Fingernail Moon and it's closed. So of course, THIS last Saturday we went to take it, (he and I because, you know, I wanted to save it till Saturday, when he could go with me because it's gonna be SO much fun, don't you know.) And we pulled up and the gate was closed and I thought he was gonna turn purple and have a stroke right in front of the Reclamation Center. He said "That's it! I'm throwing this stuff out right here and they can pick it up when they get here!" and I said "NO! You can't do that! If it gets wet it's no good! They can't use it if it gets wet." and he says "Bullshit! What's all that right out there?" And sure enough back behind the fence there are these huge bales of cardboard littered all over the grounds, but I persisted. "I just know when I went the last time he asked me if any of it had gotten wet because they couldn't use it if it got wet." to which he just stared at me so I said "Okay. I don't care. Dump it out here if you want to." to which he said "No, I don't want to dump it out if your gonna be mad at me for the rest of the weekend." Which settled the matter, because we're passive aggressive like that.
SO THE REASON I DUMPED PAINT ALL OVER THE DRIVEWAY AND WASTED THIRTY DOLLARS WAS BECAUSE I DIDN'T LET HIM DUMP THE RECYCLES ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD SATURDAY.
I know, I'll never hear the end of it. So Mom and I sprang into action, like only the keystone cops could. I found a plastic cup and started scraping paint and putting it back in the bucket. She ran inside and got me two paper plates to do the job more efficiently, then she went and got the little broom. I finished putting back all but about two inches of the paint back in the bucket and go and grab the nearest hose while she moves the truck. I have to take off the hose cover, screw on the hose only to find that at full blast, all I'm going to get is a trickle of water and chunks of ice. I go to the next hose bib looking for the power sprayer, not there. I go around the house to the next one, not there. I go around to the fourth one, not there. I have now run a full circle completely around the house to find the sprayer at the last hose location. I come around to find that although the plan was to shoot the paint straight off the driveway onto the grass, there's not enough pressure so although Mom is trying, the water/paint is running all the way back down the driveway. I turn off the water, put on the sprayer, give it back to Mom, run in the house and fill two two quart pitchers with hot water and soap. I run back out and dump this on the paint, run back in the garage and get the industrial size broom and start scrubbing. This went on for about 20 minutes in the freezing cold weather till I finally decided you wouldn't "technically" be able to see that I spilled paint on the driveway.
Then we still had to go in and paint because the can was dented and we couldn't put the lid back on.
Good times.
No comments:
Post a Comment