Cost of three varying colours of orange paint and primer for a spare bedroom: $121.00. Cost of equipment to paint said bedroom: $83.16. Cost of Joyce and Peter letting four 18-year-olds pretend to paint the bedroom? Our sanity.
Peter’s daughter has moved in for a few months. One of the spare bedrooms, painted in an adorable Noah’s Ark theme (previous owners) was claimed by Blondie as her room for the duration. Noah and the animals had to go, replaced immediately by paint, brushes, and four teenagers with great intentions.
Dire warnings accompany my instructions. I delegate wisely. Blondie is great at colouring outside the lines, so I put her on tape. Her gorgeous friend Alexa gives me strict assurances that she’s done this kind of thing before, and ‘m not to worry.
Did I mention that the two other teenagers are the current toys of summer for our girls? Cute toys they are, too. I place my trust in the boys, telling them that I don’t think I have to worry about giggles flying with the paint as long as their hands are wielding the brushes, and can they please keep an eye on Blondie?
My last instruction is to let me know when they’ve prepped the room completely before they open any paint. The most important rule is to make sure that every single surface was covered in any of the dozens of drop sheets that I provide.
Wait. Did I mention we have beech hardwood floors upstairs?
Thus my last, final, most dire warning. Do NOT get any paint whatsoever on the hardwood floors. Come and get me when you’re ready to start painting. Repeat dire warnings. Cover everything, or die.
Another two hours passes. I go upstairs, cursing myself for letting Blondie talk me into this. I open the door again.
The room has been whitewashed by blind people. Paint and drop cloths are piled in messy hills, paint smeared all over the floor in messy globs, dripping from the floor boards onto the floor. But they have more paint on one another than on the walls. This explains the mysterious giggling.
I take a deep, calming breath and tell them all that they are not leaving the house until there isn’t a speck of paint on our floors. I close the door again and walk away. Peter is already sending telepathic I-told-you-so’s. I can feel it emanating from him as I curse under my breath.
After eight hours, the only thing these well-meaning kids have covered is everything that shouldn’t be painted: floors, door handles, hallway floor, bathroom sink, counter, good brown towels and each other.
Muttering under my breath, I leave them with soap, hot water , scrub brushes and a look that tried to convey the ominous consequences of their actions if I come back and find one spot of paint anywhere other than the walls.
They do well on clean up. But now we have to hire a professional to come finish the job. Sigh. Priceless? I think not.
