Some days I feel like I work on a chain gang. I know. I know. More #middleclasswhitepeopleproblems. While I am white, I don’t know if I’m middle class — I don’t even know if the middle class exists anymore. Let’s just leave that subject to the economists and the social scientists, shall we? I really just want to bitch about housework.
At this writing, my refrigerator needs a good once over (really, it could probably use a twice over, but who’s got time for THAT?). I really should liberate that half-load of towels that is languishing in the bottom of the hamper in my daughter’s room — I’m sure they would enjoy swishing around in the Kenmore in the company of my bed sheets — I can ALWAYS make a full load of laundry up in this joint. No worries there. The cleaning supplies — the ones I liberated from the hall closet and under the sink — are currently making their home in the middle of my kitchen floor. They, like almost everything else in this place, are awaiting a long overdue organization intervention.
In fairness, the kitchen WAS clean and organized until the other day when I decided to paint the adjacent hallway. I’m sure you can relate to how these projects take shape — I had to clean out the closet in the hallway before I could paint the hallway — it was there I discovered a cache of cleaning supplies (more of a horde, if I’m being honest). In my quest for something heretofore unknown to me — organization — I decided that I needed to consolidate these potions and poisons with some of their more accessible compatriots — the ones that were hanging out under the kitchen sink. Consolidation is the key to organization! At least I think it is. I have very little experience in this area.
I also needed a base of operations for my painting supplies. I placed the brushes, the pots of paints, the sandpaper, and the blue tape aside of the ammonia, the cleansers, and the polishes. They were happily hanging out together until my search for the sponge, the putty knife, and/or the caulk gun disrupted the controlled chaos and replaced it with, well, just chaos. Now, of course, what we’ve got going on there is what is commonly known in the business as a “hot mess”.
In the midst of the mayhem that the hallway project has become, I took an old metal cabinet outside and spray painted it — because I decided that it needed to be black. I decided that it needed to be black immediately. It needed to be black concurrent to the hallway being blue. I wonder if you can imagine what comes next? If you were able to see me — and unless you’re planning on showing up at my door, you won’t be doing any such thing if I have anything to do with it. There will be no pictures of me in this post — I still have some modicum of self-respect left, for crying out loud! Once you have a mental image, though, you might be inclined to toss me, along with the pile of debris in the kitchen, into the “hot mess” category.
Did you know that spray paint — that stuff that adheres to rusty metal — also bonds, perhaps forever, to one’s skin? It does. All I can say is this: “Wear gloves, kids, like the back of the container (probably) tells you to!”
Who can read that teeny, tiny writing on the back of the can? Children can, that’s who — though I’m sure there’s some warning on there about children USING this type of product, there’s certainly no law against them READING about its use. I should have hired a kid — mine is never any help in these situations. In truth, I only read the first couple of lines under the WARNING! heading, so I’m not certain what, if anything, the manufacturers had to say about children using their product. I only got so far with it before I decided that I would need a magnifying glass and the power of seven suns to actually make out that which was imprinted upon it — likely with spray paint — in the smallest font known to man. I don’t even own a magnifying glass (at least I don’t think I do — who knows what I’ll find in those “office supply” baskets that still need sorting through). And the space travel required to find a planet with seven suns? That’s just out of the question.
We won’t even discuss that common sense would dictate that a person using this type of product should wear protective gear — possibly something resembling a beekeeper’s suit — we will NOT even discuss it. What we will discuss is my success — because that’s what I’m choosing to focus on. I’m happy to report that the cabinet is now black.
The fact that I look like a victim of a spray tan gone horribly wrong? I’m not going to get all worked up over it. Hopefully it’ll fade. If it doesn’t, I suppose I could just look for work in a minstrel show. Of course (and thankfully), I’ll probably need a time machine for that. Frankly, if I had access to a time machine I’d be far more likely to use it to travel to the future — a future where my house is organized, painted, and redecorated — so what if I have to go through life explaining that I’m speckled because I’m an idiot who can’t read the warning labels on a can of paint? At least I’ll be able to come home to a relaxing environment, wrapped in the bosom of my loving family — the ones who won’t be seen in public with a woman who looks like Al Jolson’s far less talented cousin.
If you liked this, you can read more about “The Hovel Purge” here! Enjoy!
photo credit: spray paint