Sunday, January 10, 2010

Paint, 2. Us, 0.

The evening started out well. We arrived at some things looming, and gleefully tore into packages that had arrived via UPS. It was like Christmas all over again, as Rebekah and I examined the artwork and posters she had purchased online to adorn the walls of the building. Jeremy, my husband, computer tech guru, and sometimes helper-elf, arrived shortly before the pizza delivery. We ate dinner, formed a plan of attack, assigned tasks to one another, and dug in. Rebekah (aka Mom) and I decided we'd finish painting the bathroom doors in the basement. It was a good plan, and was going along smoothly until the paint gremlins got us.

Rebekah was painting the bright lime green at the bottom of her door, when it looked as if she slipped, knocking her can of paint over. "Oh no, Melanie! Help!" She called, as it oozed out of the can, and glopped lazily across the basement floor. The paint didn't even have the decency to land on our cardboard "drop cloth." As I went to step down from my perch on a folding chair, I landed on top of my bright pink paint.

"Oh No!" I said. I helplessly watched, brush in hand, as more paint puddled under my feet. I couldn't think, my brain seized up. "Call for your Dad. We need help," Rebekah said.

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad! Dad?!"


We called simultaneously up to my father, Floyd, fix-it expert of all things and rescuers of damsels in distress. He took one look and said, "You can scoop that back up into the paint can."

"But your floor..." Rebekah began.

"It'll clean up. That's why I varnished it. Yo, Mel. You're making a trail."

"But I took off my shoes and socks," I said as I hopped towards the double basin sink.

"Well, you're dripping."

I looked at the bottom of my jeans, and sure enough, they had been dipped in pink paint. I had to flip up the cuffs to stop making pink tracks across the floor. Meanwhile, Jeremy wandered down, wondering about all the commotion. Handing him a bucket and a sponge, we enlisted Jer on clean-up duty.

"It was the weirdest thing, like the paint gremlins got us," Rebekah said. "Honestly it was just one can after another."

"Well, I think we oughta just call it a night, "I said. "Usually when stuff starts to go this wrong, I take it as a sign, and pack it up."

"I'm with you."


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