I intensely dislike painting. It hurts just to type this, my fingers and hands are blistered. I am hunched over the likes of which Notre Dame has never seen, and I've got paint in places one shouldn't get paint. I'm not built for physical labor. This much is clear. I might feel the satisfaction of a job completed but I'm too tired. At least I'm clean, which brings me to an aside...how does paint get everywhere? I mean, I didn't paint naked, yet... Well, I won't go there, that's a visual no one needs but good grief!
My teenage daughter wants a new room, and she needs one. She is afterall a teenager now, and her room is a hodgepodge of eclectic hand me downs and remnants from babyhood. So we buy the lamp, clean out the room, tape it up and pick the color.
The can said Cotton Candy, but I'm thinking more Hubba Bubba Bubbalicious Bubble Gum:
Now that I'm done, I think all this painting distracted me from what I'm really stressing about...finding a new bedspread to match!!! But I'll worry about that after Thanksgiving. Bring on Turkey Day!!!
1 comments:
Wow, who knew she would go back to the color of her first baby room. All that pink when she was born must have made some lasting impression on her hippocampus.
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