I live life on the edge when it comes to DIY.
I paint signs in dresses wearing red lipstick.
I stain frames in a ruffled shirt and chandelier earrings.
I laugh in the face of spilled paint or a runaway river of stain or splotches of splattered glue or glittered fingertips or layers of dripping glaze.
You’ve got this, I tell myself as I throw my head back and laugh with abandon. Show that DIY you’re the boss. Don’t ever let a few drops of paint get the best of you.
Last week it happened.
Along came a DIY project that stood up and took names and put me in my do-it-yourself place.
It all started with a door.
Not this door.
This door is much cuter.
It’s painted and decorated and all springed up flowers and boxwood spheres and planters and a cute wreath.
I’m talking about the back door. The one that just got installed. It’s paintless and not decorated and isn’t really fit for flower company yet.
Last week I woke up, took the dogs outside, looked at the back door and decided it needed to be painted.
In my pajamas and robe.
I rounded up a can of black paint, put down the drop cloth, found a brush, located a small roller, taped off the handles and started the project.
Slowly and surely, I dipped my brush into that paint and applied it to the door.
(total aside: can we all agree that the first brush of paint can make your heart smile)
And so it was with this project.
The first brush of paint looked amazing.
This project held all the promise of a walk-down-the-catwalk makeover.
This was going to be THE door. The one I’d write poems about. The one I’d pass down to my children. The one I’d discuss in great detail in aisle 5 of Walmart.
I smiled to myself and mentally patted myself and my pajamas on the back. Pausing, I stepped back to admire my work. Somewhere along the way. Somewhere in the mix. Somewhere in the stepping, I got my foot caught up in the tie of the robe, stumbled, tripped backwards….
….and tipped over the open can of paint.
Time stood still.
In slow motion I watched in horror as the entire can of paint poured onto the floor in what I can only describe as a paint tsunami.
Noooooooooo I said to the empty hallway.
Stoooooop I told the paint.
Hellllllllpppppp I told my pajamas.
I sprung into action. I grabbed the drop cloth and formed a moat around the giant blob of ever-spreading paint on the floor. I ran and grabbed the trash can from the kitchen and started ineffectively sopping up the paint with paper towels.
As fast as I’d sop, more paint would spill out from the depths of that blob. Desperately, frustratingly, overwhelmingly I fought that paint with every fiber of my being.
The classic tale of man vs. paint.
And the paint was winning.
My floor was covered in paint.
My moldings were covered in paint.
My sleeves were covered in paint.
In the middle of all of that paint catastrophe, the ties of my robe somehow dipped themselves in the paint blob and flung droplets of paint all over the walls of the hallway.
I stared at the paint. I stared at the drops covering the walls. I stared at the floor and the ceiling and the molding and the hallway and the ruined sleeves and the ruined ties and made an executive decision….
….my robe had to take one for the team.
I tossed the robe into the very center of the blob and all the terry cloth soaked up the paint and stopped the tsunami, leaving a thin layer of manageable paint to clean up.
The robe saved the day.
Four rolls of paper towels, the elbow grease of a small army and 548 q-tips later, I got most of the rest of the paint up from the floor.
Life lessons you discover mid-clean-up:
1. Wear painting clothes when you paint.
2. Have a healthy respect for the DIY.
3. Wrapping a wet paper towel around a q-tip helps get into the hard-to-reach places on your floor.
4. And I learned that into every life, sometimes a little spilled paint must fall, but it’s so much easier to deal with…
….if it’s not the entire can. 🙂
PS I have to go robe shopping now, if anyone has any suggestions. 🙂