Ooops Paint

The last thing I want to do with my spare time is paint a room. Probably because I am terrible at it, even though I come from a family of house painters (my grandfather, uncle, brother and cousin have all been professional painters/ wallpaper hangers at one time). I am better off buying the paint and letting someone else apply it. You'd think I would have learned the art of painting after working with my brother for a few days back in the late 70s. But, no. I get more paint on myself than on the walls.

I have learned something cool from Brenda that has made the dreaded search for paint a fun challenge. I go the area in the paint department that I call the "ooops paint" aisle. This is where someone erred in choosing a color, texture, etc., and have returned their mistake to the store to be re-sold for a very deep discounted price. If it's a good day, there is a color, or something close to what I had in mind, sitting there that I can snag for next to nothing. For the two trips I made last week to the derelict ooops paint aisle, I came away only spending $5 per gallon on $35 paint. I feel proud about the purchase. Then I spend the "big" money on tape, brushes, pan inserts, rollers, etc. Why purchase those items every time you paint, you ask? Well, I am so excited to be finished with a room that I fail to rinse the brushes and they all turn to stone in the corner of my garage. I have a graveyard of items from the hardware store that die a terrible death in that way.

The guys at the store with the orange vests always see me coming. Maybe it's my imagination, but they seem to be whispering to one another, "Here comes that musician guy again. I wonder what he's screwed up this time?" I imagine they jokingly hurry and hide all the cool ooops paint colors and leave the strange ones like fluorescent green or eggplant for me. Whatever the case, we usually settle for one that is "close" ...the one whimpering to take him home like a pitiful little puppy in a pet store.

In this economy, I have had to learn to be a "do-it-yourself-er." Brenda has more faith in me than I do when it comes to fixing stuff. I can write songs, play guitar, sing and lead others in worship, but my skills as a handyman are lame. I will have to say, though, that when the walls are dry, the blue tape is pulled, and that last piece of furniture is scooted back into place, I do a victory march around the room and pump my fists. Even though the lines are a bit crooked and the little dots of spilled paint mock me, I have the warm, satisfied feeling of a completed task. Now, the leaky shower faucet is screaming for my attention...