I’m spending this last big weekend of summer hanging off the outside of my house, trying to sand it in preparation for painting. I’m not sure we’ll get to the painting part any time soon as there is a lot of sanding to do. Painting, like writing, can take a lot more time than you think. It doesn’t help that I’m n0t at all sure about the color we will be painting it. Right about now it’s looking like we goofed picking it. It was meant to be a sand or a beige and it’s looking more like an adobe or (shudder) a light coral.
I have picked the wrong paint before. Come to think of it, that was supposed to be beige too. It came out sort of peachy. And my husband teased me for years about our pink living room. I made him pick the paint the next time. He was going for gray. Everyone who has ever walked into the room comments on what a nice purple it is. In a way, the wrong paint has been one of the funnier inner jokes in our marriage.
Because it’s a rare home repair project that ever goes quite how you thought, even when someone else does it. Whole books have been written on the subject and I’m sure I’ll use it somehow.
See you knew there was a reason you wrote, right? It makes even the mildly irritating useful.
Happy Labor Day everyone!