Do you mind if I share a horrific painting story with you today? You may need to put your children in another room so they won't have nightmares tonight. Let's call this story, "What's Lies Beneath the Lid".
Last weekend John picked up some much needed primer for several of our projects. Being overcome by the diy add virus (read about the symptoms here) I snatched up the quart of primer faster than Layla snatches up dropped food and started attacking some of our billion projects we have going on. Sure, in the midst of my crazed painting one part of my brain noticed the super duper strong smell and another part recognized how the paint was weirdly separated. I was in primer heaven, though, and couldn't be bothered with thoughts of anything other than majestic makeovers and creative crafts.
In order for you to fully grasp the horror of this story, you must know that when I paint, I get more than just messy - I get baby-eating-spaghetti kind of messy. My hands are coated, I wipe drips with my clothes, and inevitably paint finds it's way on my feet every single time. Needless to say, I was a hot mess after my priming party. Like always, I took the brushes and myself to our sink to start washing up. It's then that my brain started recalling my previous observations as I watched the water beading up and the paint smearing everywhere. Every.Where. Oh, and my brain also reminded me that I had forgotten to take off my wedding rings. Enter shrieks for John.
In between accusing John of conspiring against me by introducing oil-based primer into my water-loving life, I was begging him to yank the rings off my finger before anymore paint coated them. Let me take a brief break here to ask if anyone has ever had their husband attempt to remove their rings from their hands. It's hilarious in a normal situation, maddening in this situation. So, in the midst of taking off my rings, John became covered in paint and the rings looked like white porcelain instead of my beautiful jewelry. I instructed John to immediately head to another sink and start washing the rings while I sought to remove as much paint as possible from myself. If this were a horror film, the camera would be panning back and forth between me and John while focusing on our fear-stricken faces.
After several minutes I realized that the paint was not going anywhere...well actually, it was smearing everywhere but not disappearing. I headed into the bathroom to check on John and he was struggling as much as I was. I decided to pull out some sugar and olive oil - if I couldn't remove the paint, perhaps I could scrub off my painted skin. Eventually I was able to remove enough paint from my finger tips that I could take over ring duty.
Taking over ring duty was essential because John was freaking out as he realized he couldn't practice with paint-covered hands. He's in grad school for classical guitar and is busy preparing for a huge recital in a few weeks. My shrieks for help interrupted his precious practicing. The more he tried to get the paint off his hands, the more is just smeared around. Our kitchen and bathroom both looked like they were in the midst of demolition with water, paint, and paper towels spewed everywhere.
In order to protect you from further horrifying details, we will fast-forward 30 minutes. Eventually the sugar and oil mixture succeeded in removing our skin and the paint enough that we could calm down.
The point of this long story is to share my newly developed fear of our primer. It has sat on our balcony all week because I refuse to go near it and our paint brushes haven't been cleaned. Today I have a list of things that must be primed before I can finish the projects and I can't bring myself to open the primer. I'm scared of the horror that lies beneath the lid.