After enjoying a wonderful Thanksgiving brunch & dinner with close friends on Thursday, I took advantage of having a few days off to paint the kitchen. Our kitchen is a large room with high ceilings and overwhelming as it was, I plunged through the monotony of two coats of paint, plus a third to cover up a half wall painting experiment I had done some time ago and now no longer worked.
Hubby did not partake in this activity although he did accompany me to the hardware store to pick up supplies. He frowned at my color selection of Arizona Dust and then promptly disappeared into the aisle that seemed to be a magnet for the majority of men and other weekend warriors. I found him later in said aisle oggling the barbecue grills while an ethereal glow lit his face up like a child gazing into the window of an F.A.O Schwartz toy store. A few others had joined him and again their faces seemed to be aglow in wonder at the shiny metal contraption in front of them. “I have this grill,” hubby proudly told them. The men turned to look at him as if he were their new hero. At this point I almost announced that it was I that was the bearer of such a great gift a few years ago on his birthday but decided that I did not want to ruin his moment.
Home improvement projects are best done solo in our household. While there are many things that are done best together, anything involving sprucing up the house is a task that one needs to do while the other half is out of the house. We were lucky to figure this out early on in our marriage. Our first major project involved painting the livingroom in two different shades. While the outcome was gorgeous, the journey there left a bad taste in one’s mouth. Could it have been the taste of paint?
After borrowing a sprayer from a friend we began the process of
screwing up painting. Hubby pressed the lever while I held a shield-type device to keep the paint from splattering on the ceiling. Suddenly a stream of paint jutted backwards and hit hubby in the face. He immediately dropped the sprayer and yelled, “Quick! Get me a paper towel!” Once I determined that the paint wasn’t burning his eyes I burst out laughing. I still have this image of him standing there, knees bent, eyes scrunched closed under a layer of dark brown paint. He, however, did not see the humor in it. After a minimal amount of time spent working on the sprayer we decided to give it another go. This time though, much to my horror, the paint stream shot straight up and splattered the ceiling. Any humor I had found in our predicament earlier was gone. Paint in hubby’s eyes, now that was funny. Paint on the ceiling, not so much. After an explicit amount of arguing and bickering, I made the executive decision to leave and get a pedicure. Now let me say, I have found that there is very little a pedicure won’t fix. Ladies, if you haven’t gotten in on this secret yet, take heed! I returned a few hours later as a kinder gentler Monsoon, and the livingroom was transformed. Hubby also got a great big hug, a sorry, and a thank you.
Now flash forward to this past weekend. Based on past experiences hubby had decided to stay in the Man-Cave and we both agreed that the only time he would help would be when I needed to move the oven and the fridge in order to paint behind them. He came in a few times to
criticize give advice on how I could be doing things. I will be the first to admit that I have a hard time listening to him on these matters. I was raised to be very independent which I’m sure plays a big factor in why I got married so late in life in the first place. I did listen but as Frank Sinatra says, I did it my way. All in all I think it came out pretty good. Where the ceilings are tall I was thankful that I didn’t fall off the ladder and other than the occasional ‘hey, be careful, you’re going to fall’ or ‘you’re getting paint on the tile,’ there were no major blow outs.
Hubby did take advantage of this time to clean out our toaster oven, which is a stainless steel number from Kitchen-Aid that we had received as a wedding gift. Living in a hot climate this appliance has proven to be a God-send, especially in the summer. He brought it outside and wiped it down with oven cleaner. Unfortunately this also wiped off all the letters and numbers on the dials. How would we know our bake from our broil? I could have been upset. Instead, I laughed.
Then I got a pedicure.