The Art of Painting
One thing we all should have learned from marriage is that never take it literally if a man tells you that he is going to do something. Biajee had promised to do all the painting by himself because any reasonable person on this planet would have agreed that it’s not a brilliant idea to have a 5 month pregnant woman work on all these paints. Yet I did 9/10 of the painting while he did 9/10 of the complaining.
Required materials: Tape, Roller, Brush, Paint, Tray, Work Clothes (you don't mind staining them or throwing them away) and a protective cap (so you don't get a free styling for hair).
My innocent hubby had never painted in his whole life. I, on the opposite, had helped friends paint clubhouses and fences before. Neither of us had taped before so we were starting from ground zero.
It took us the whole week to move all the furniture and tape up the edges, windows and doorways. Before we started the project, Dr. A had advised me that I shouldn’t climb any ladders or use any lead-based paints. It’s a magnificent idea to leave the windows open all the time so that I don’t get drowsy because of the smell. Taping probably took four fifth time of the whole project and 125% of anyone’s patience. One night after I had slithered on the floor like a pudgy serpent with my belly down for over an hour, Biajee finally made up his mind to seal the taping step for good. I was waiting for him in bed all that time. I get used to him being the comfy cushion I lay my head on and it’s really hard to fall asleep without him snoring by me.
We chose a color called Bluster Day, which was a cheering light blue that could ignite anyone’s day. Biajee’s job was to finish anything that’s between 5 feet 9 inches to 6 feet of the wall. My job was to take care of any space within my reach without me having to stretch or get on to a ladder. We did 2 walls on Saturday. Biajee was already comparing himself to Michelangelo when we finally washed up all the tools after 2 hours. Michelangelo painted the ceiling for a church for 6 months and then couldn’t move his neck for a whole year. I told him that he wasn’t even painting the ceiling yet. Whiner.
Maybe men are all like that. You can’t rely on them for anything. He wouldn’t have moved a single finger if I hadn’t suggested that we paint in the past weekend. And if I hadn’t been pregnant, I’d be the one who initiated, started, worked and finished the whole job. And he murmured about what a hard job it was all way through. I hardly commented at all. I was just thinking that I would raise my son a different way – he’ll have to cut the grass next spring…
Required materials: Tape, Roller, Brush, Paint, Tray, Work Clothes (you don't mind staining them or throwing them away) and a protective cap (so you don't get a free styling for hair).
My innocent hubby had never painted in his whole life. I, on the opposite, had helped friends paint clubhouses and fences before. Neither of us had taped before so we were starting from ground zero.
It took us the whole week to move all the furniture and tape up the edges, windows and doorways. Before we started the project, Dr. A had advised me that I shouldn’t climb any ladders or use any lead-based paints. It’s a magnificent idea to leave the windows open all the time so that I don’t get drowsy because of the smell. Taping probably took four fifth time of the whole project and 125% of anyone’s patience. One night after I had slithered on the floor like a pudgy serpent with my belly down for over an hour, Biajee finally made up his mind to seal the taping step for good. I was waiting for him in bed all that time. I get used to him being the comfy cushion I lay my head on and it’s really hard to fall asleep without him snoring by me.
We chose a color called Bluster Day, which was a cheering light blue that could ignite anyone’s day. Biajee’s job was to finish anything that’s between 5 feet 9 inches to 6 feet of the wall. My job was to take care of any space within my reach without me having to stretch or get on to a ladder. We did 2 walls on Saturday. Biajee was already comparing himself to Michelangelo when we finally washed up all the tools after 2 hours. Michelangelo painted the ceiling for a church for 6 months and then couldn’t move his neck for a whole year. I told him that he wasn’t even painting the ceiling yet. Whiner.
Maybe men are all like that. You can’t rely on them for anything. He wouldn’t have moved a single finger if I hadn’t suggested that we paint in the past weekend. And if I hadn’t been pregnant, I’d be the one who initiated, started, worked and finished the whole job. And he murmured about what a hard job it was all way through. I hardly commented at all. I was just thinking that I would raise my son a different way – he’ll have to cut the grass next spring…
posted by baobaobebe @ 5:46 PM
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