I have a new belief: I think paint molecules are sentient beings. Not only that, but they are pranksters, just looking for ways to spill and create chaos.
No use crying over spilled paint,
you say? Oh, yes there is. I spilled a quart of diluted outdoor, cream-colored paint ALL OVER my dark brown kitchen floor. I’m
telling you, the paint LEAPED from my hands. Much worse than this:
I’ve been working on a paint project in the back yard (pictures to come in next week’s post), and when carrying in the tools, my dyspraxia kicked in, and voila! Paint everywhere.
It splashed from the sink to the fridge, from the oven to the entry. Did I mention it also got all over the island? And all over me? I would have taken photos, but it was 106 degrees—we’ve been having a heat wave—and everything was drying the second it landed.
I used an entire roll of paper towels mopping up this disaster, scrubbing dinner plate-sized puddles and pin-dot splatters, and digging into grooves between wooden planks. Took at least an hour.
Then I hammered
the lid back onto the paint can, trapping those little imps until next
time. But, of course, St. Bob came home
in time to see me hammering and began to sing, “I hear you knockin’ but you can’t
But you can
relax in your clean home with no paint spills, and watch my Youtube Mom videos