We finally got around to painting our kitchen last weekend.
Again.
I should probably stop living with my head inside of a paint can. I also probably need therapy, but at least I’m a good painter. Actually, make that a good paint supervisor because Mark is the one who actually does all of the rolling. I had the very fatiguing tasks of running errands for missing supplies and lifting my exhausted fingers to wipe the sweat off of Mark’s brow.
I also may have strained my neck trying to check out the pecs of a shirtless hunky adonis while I was out on a coffee run.
But we did it. The paint job I mean.
And now my entire main floor is painted in colours that sound like Mother Nature sneezed and wiped my walls with a tissue full of Autumn Haze and Winter’s Silence.
Paint colour names is the one thing about painting that Mark and I do not see eye to eye on. I like the girly names because they sound dramatic and impressive. He thinks they sound too girly and lame and should instead be given number codes, like green 4569, because going to the store and asking for a can of Winter’s Silence is no different than walking up to the person behind the counter and asking them to rub his nipples.
Labels: Comic Relief, Home Improvement, Mark, Marriage |
Laura : July 24, 2007 
