RED....

Red.

I am going to paint that shelf red. Not just red, bright red, like a wagon. It's going to be red and beautiful and it's going to make his room more cheerful when we have to move to the apartment. This red shelf is going to make everything better for him.

I circled the block two, three times, stalking my prey, looking for a perfect time to stop, directly in a spot that was clearly marked NO STOPPING. "Just my luck" I huffed as I disobeyed the law and pulled the car to a halt in front of my treasure. I hurled open the hatch, slammed down the back seat and awkwardly fiddled with the shelf that now suddenly seemed not so spectacular as I once had pictured it. I shoved it in and ran around to the front of the car like I had just robbed a bank. I guess in a way I did, I robbed a bank of someone's trash, because I'm weird like that, and I can't stand to see beautiful things end up in a landfill.

I come from a long line of garbage pickers. My mom was a picker, specializing in antiques and old rotten chairs that came crashing down into a pile of splinters when my dad's big fat friends would come over and sit on them. Then my mom would be angry and hate my dad's friends until she found her next treasure. My grandfather was the greatest picker of them all. He actually figured out a way to make a living from trash picking. His specialty was lawn mowers. He probably had fifty of them in his garage at one time, each waiting to be fixed. Then he would sell them. Lawn mowers and riding toys for me were his treasures. My grandfather's father was probably a picker too. He most likely specialized in muskets and kittens to punch in the face. Not really, but I think he must have been a pretty mean dude so that's the first thing I thought of.

The shelf was yellowish, once white. It had a subtle smell of smoke, which explains the yellow stains on what once would have been a loved piece of furniture. The legs were wobbly and there were cobwebs firmly attached between the legs. It deserved to be red. It deserved to be a place for a little boy to keep his toys and books. This bookshelf did not belong in the trash.

Saturday morning I lovingly sanded the grime off the shelf. I tightened the legs and I opened a fresh can of red paint to bring this piece back to life.

One coat. It took hours.

I closed up the can and took my brushes in to wash the red out. I ran them under warm water and rinsed them with a tight grasp.

I only realized there was a problem when I saw the water beading on my skin.

and then this happened:

 
  
  
  
 


Looking at the pictures, I'm sure you can figure out my intentions and how I failed to remove the red paint from my now stained hands. To be honest, I don't remember exactly how I did get the red paint off my hands, I had so many mixtures of concoctions, trying to figure out the best way to make my hands no look like those of Dexter  before I had to a) drop EVILBOY off at a play date b) meet someone from KIJIJI to sell a DVD and c)go to the BEAVERS banquet.  So pretty much of all days to stain your hands blood red, that day as the worst.

My hands really didn't look much better by the time I had to drop EVILBOY off for his play date.  When the father opened the door at EVILBOY's best friend's house, I felt like he was staring at my red hands.  I laughed moronically and explained that it wasn't blood (WTF??) and that I was painting. Then I decided we needed groceries.  Again I could feel people watching me as I pushed my cart through the busy store.  When I made eye contact I just laughed manically and explained that I was painting.

I spent the rest of the day explaining to a KIJIJI customer and scout leaders that I had painted something red.

and this was only after the first coat.

Suddenly the "wagon red" didn't seem like such a great idea. 

The moral of the story:
Never wash brushes out with your bare hands when you are working with glossy paint.  Also do not explain to normal people that your red stained hands are in fact not blood because more than likely they will nod and laugh, but secretly they are thinking you are a psycho murderer.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hello..this is my blog. I bought this fancy theme and I don't know what to write here just yet. Maybe one day remind me I have to write something inspiring here?

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