Day 31, Project 14:

So, I don’t know…

I was in bed this morning, with coffee and newspapers -- as any civilized person should be of a sunny Sunday morning -- when suddenly, with no idea how I got there, I found myself in the back hall in some sort of a fugue state with a paintbrush in my hand.

Methinks Prudence and Goody are trying to kill off the other selves.

...the people the people the people the people the people…


It took four hours -- which means either Johnny overestimated or else I’m better at this than either of us thought (both of which explanations upset my entire understanding of our relationship, so I'm going to just let it lie for now).

And I cut it all in by myself -- because I realized that the new windows are made of plastic so if I got it on there (which I did) I could just wipe it off (which ditto).

I got it on the walls a little, too, but they needed a second paint coat anyway. They have, in fact, been waiting two years for their second coat for just this reason. I hope this doesn’t mean I’m in charge of second-coating now.

And this:

Is where I ran out of stain. The last panel on the inside of the laundry room door. Seriously, the entire rest of everything was done, and -- yoink -- I dipped my brush into an empty can.

(Well, the entire rest of everything except undersides of windowsills -- which Johnny said, if he were doing this job, he would do -- but which I didn’t care to do at all, so I on-purposely left them till last for just this in-case reason. )

So after three and a half hours of being Sybil and Mike and feeling all good about myself, I had to go out and buy this weeny can:

Now, Johnny’s sick on the couch today for some reason (stomach ugh), so I checked in with him before I left to see if he needed anything. His face fell when I told him I was out of stain. He looked like he might throw up (which, stomach ugh and all, was not entirely unlikely). I couldn’t begin to imagine why this news would upset him so.

“I’ll just get the itty-bitty can,” I said. “It’ll only cost a couple dollars. And it’s stain, so there’s no dye lot. It’ll match.” I was throwing out all I had, and he wasn’t looking any better.

“It’ll be dry by the time you get back,” he moaned. “It’s gonna flash.”

Oh good lord.

That’s my perfection-painter of a husband for you. Worried about the stain flashing on the bottom right panel of the inside of the accordion door to the laundry room -- where you would have to actually be in there with the door closed to ever even see it.

I talked him off that ledge, using my super logic powers. And, since I was going out anyway…

Yoink.

It did flash, by the way.

I don’t know if you can see it in this picture (I can; lord knows Johnny will):

But if you ever come over to my house and find yourself shut in the laundry room, please don’t look too closely at the lower right-hand panel.

(I haven't forgotten about the poem, by the way, I just got shanghaied by Eve and her three faces. I'll do it now...)

Day 31: Accomplished
Time: Four hours.
Cost: $3.84 (including tax) for the wee can of stain (which I dipped my brush in exactly twice, and still didn’t bother with the undersides of windowsills).
Handing Some Of These Tasks Off To My Other Selves: Psychotic