Zach would like me to title this post: “Two and a half years after buying the house, Sara lifts a finger”.
I would like it known that, last year, (day 600 ish of our mortgage) I did some touch-up painting on the floor of the east bedroom, where the paint had run under the tape. I’m not a complete layabout. And one time I stabilized the ladder while Zach worked. And I scolded the dog after I accidentally let him run across the newly oiled hardwood floor.
Zach said that priming these shingles was making him suicidal and he kept howling his displeasure from the back room. He threw his paintbrush in a fit of pique. So I took over and quite enjoyed it. Zach believes that is because half the job was done before I arrived on my white horse.
My insistence that the task wasn’t so bad caused me to get saddled with the actual painting of this wall, which will happen next weekend, supposedly. If I choose not to apply a coat of paint, it has been threatened that my new large craft room will be relocated to this tiny (5′ by 8′ ish) room the color of…. let’s see… cigarette white tinged with yellow.