Paint

It was an innocent mistake, but this could be why my husband  doesn’t want my help with the painting of any rooms. Something about drop sheets? I don’t know, I wasn’t listening. 

The point is the Carpenter is an anti-self-expressionist kind of guy. You see the issue. Our relationship is nothing if not ironic. 

Yet, in this particular instance I feel strongly that if there was a participation badge for effort, I would earn one. After all, painting of any kind is an art form and I’m a creative type, so I simply made the bedroom space more artful, inspired, soulful if you will.

Like I said, my error wasn’t intentional, until it was, and by then, it was just adding character to the space as a whole. 

Here’s the backstory: after months of paint samples stuck to the walls of the primary bedroom, I’d finally selected a beautiful green that I felt was best suited to the calm, serene vibes I wanted for the room. 

The pantone was titled evergreen fog, which the Carpenter said was fitting for my mid-life mental status. Isn’t he clever?

This deep, but not dark shade of green was perfect for the furniture I was generously gifted from a friend. A queen-sized wooden bed frame with a tall backboard and a matching footboard. For us, this was posh furniture, so the colour accent had to be just right. I’m confident I nailed this assignment.

The prep work of sanding and filling in holes and cracks was serious work, and thus, the Carpenter took that on. Also, he’s bossy. Apparently I’m too aggressive with sandpaper. I mean, I use an emery board on my finger nails and that works out fine, so I get the concept, but whatever. Be bossy.

I’ve never been involved with painting rooms in any house we’ve ever lived in, mostly due to my threats of insubordination. What’s the harm in painting words and smiley faces on bare walls you’re just going to paint over later? You know, make it fun.  

The Carpenter doesn’t understand fun, though he enjoys painting. He finds it calming. Brushes brushing with careful application. Rollers rolling with smooth control, blanketing the walls in repetitive motions. Zen, but still bossy.

For the bedroom, I wanted to try painting by myself. I promised to follow his strict instructions. We compromised. I was tasked with painting the borders of the walls. The Carpenter explained the process. How much paint to put on the brush. How to apply said paint to the walls. How to not make a mess. Yep. Got it.

I spread newspaper under the paint tray, to prevent spills. I moved it carefully around the room with me as I worked. I took great care with the brush strokes, feathering out the seams. 

I was enjoying the meditative task so much that I didn’t notice I’d stepped in a drop of paint on the newspaper. My bare feet walked around the room unaware of the paint trail I’d created on the parquet flooring. Uh oh.

Sure, I could have cleaned it up. But now the room has tiny spots of my character. It’s a happy memory. I did that. 

And yes, I’ve been fired. 

Yet, Evergreen Fog has never looked better.