OK, so I should have taken two weeks off to paint the Man Room. Welcome to My Life, as Bill Engvald says.
So when last we met, the name of the game was painting the trim. The Fates were dealing. They called 52 cards wild, plus Jokers.
So Tuesday night–last Tuesday night–I decided that I didn’t really need to tape the trim. I’d just freehand the stuff. Yes, I’m cocky enough to do trim painting freehand. I find it’s good practice for keeping a steady sight on a target.
21′ of crown molding took nearly 90 minutes. The Fates were dancing around the room to 70s disco music, complete with mirror ball. At least I think it was a mirror ball; my eyes were a bit crossed at the end.
Let me explain my house. It’s circular, designed by an Italian named Dante, who was in a bad mood after Mrs. Dante had him renovate their home one time too many. Nothing is square, plumb, level or straight. The wood is 50+ year old southern yellow pine. You want to drive a nail? You’d better drill a pilot hole first. The house has settled in every direction on the compass plus 6 alternative dimensions. It’s A Unique House.
Renovation projects in this house should come with a supply of anti-psychotic drugs.
Wednesday, I face reality and tape the trim. Some places were straight enough I could trim the old fashioned way, but most of it needed the tape so that we could have a straight trim line. If you follow the actual trim, people assume you were drinking rather heavily when you were painting.
The Fates drank a toast to my continued efforts. Then they decided to have some real fun.
Thursday, quart of the trim color in hand, brush at the ready, I begin again. Things go quicker. The freehand parts go well. The tape lets me really whiz right along on the crooked parts. I have the sense of being suckered in. It’s reinforced when the Fates start that whispering among themselves.
I threaten the Fates with a brush full of dark gray paint. It doesn’t work.
Friday, the second coat goes on. The Fates are absent, having decided to go out to supper. I skip supper, determined to outwit them.
Saturday, it’s time to untape. I carefully start peeling the tape. The Fates walk along with me, pointing to various places on the walls that I had painted earlier. Each time they point, they giggle and the tape peels off some of the new paint.
YES, I USED THE F’ING BLUE PAINTER’S TAPE! THE LABEL LIES!
I could really use the anti-psychotic drugs at this point. The Voices In My Head are telling me to strangle the Fates and dispose of the bodies using a wood chipper. A big wood chipper. Big and orange and so noisy…what’s that you say? You start it how?
There’s a knock on the door, and The Headache walks in. I suspect it presages a stroke given my luck. I quickly resort to the heaviest drugs in the arsenal. The Headache falls asleep in the middle of the floor. I nearly collapse beside it. These things are the pain pills left over from my gall bladder surgery. No wonder I didn’t hurt. You have to be conscious to hurt.
The rest of Saturday, Sunday and Monday are spent fixing all the little places where the nice new paint was damaged. Oh, and did I mention the wallpaper on the accent wall? Yep, peeled it too. Every try to fix wall paper? I did. The Fates had a field day with that one. Laughing, whispering to each other, the whole bit. Go ahead ladies, keep it up. I Shall Have The Last Laugh.
Tonight, I sneak into the house. It’s quiet–almost too quiet. No Fates in sight. Bliss. I quickly grab the ceiling paint and touch up a couple of places on the ceiling. Then I scrape the window glass.
I’m now ready to put the room back together. Right after I wash out that big wood chipper.