My husband is a painter. I am not. But I do get bored sometimes. Eddie left for more Army Reserve training (seems like we're apart more now than when we were on active duty!), and so I decided to take on a project that I wasn't all that interested in taking on, but it's just what I do when I get restless. Like re-arranging the living room furniture. Or that time I applied to Law School.
So I began the daunting task of painting the bathroom. I had been thinking about putting color on the white walls of our apartment for a while and thought I better start small (we have a shoebox of a bathroom, so I figure it might as well be a pretty shoebox). We've all heard it said that if we don't remember history, we are doomed to repeat it. Fortunate for me, I did remember my two previous attempts of wall painting. Unfortunately, it wasn't until after I was midway through my current project.
The first time was years ago in college when my roommate and best friend, Deb, decided to paint the walls of our teeny little basement apartment (my Grandma lived upstairs). It had one bedroom (we shared bunk beds) and the ceilings were only 6 feet tall. It was the same apartment I lived in the first four years of my life and I have distinct memories of my poor 6'2 father cursing the ceiling every time he absent-mindedly rose from the couch.
Anyway, Deb and I for whatever reason, chose the color pink to paint our little
cave apartment. Who knows why? Neither of us are big fans of pink. Let alone Peptobismal pink. But we bought bronze glaze to put over the color, hoping it would soften a bit. Turns out, it just looked like poo-covered Peptobismal. Very appealing. But we left it rather than re-doing all that work. My grandma promptly re-painted it an appropriate color the moment we moved out 2 years later, but we still lovingly refer to that place as our little pink cave.
My second attempt at painting a room happened when Eddie and I bought our first house in North Carolina. Lucky for me, the previous owners did a fabulous job painting every room in the house but one. It was the room I was going to use for my music studio, so I wanted it to be a pleasant place to work. Unfortunately, it seems I can't get away from poo colors! I wanted a rich, espresso color, which the paint was, but also took 4 coats to cover the white! And because of my impatience, I just had to do all 4 coats in one day. So the last coat wasn't completely dry before I put the next coat on, and I just ended up smudging wall after wall, and dripping all over the carpet (because I'm also too impatient to put down adequate drip cloths).
Back to present day, I had no recollection of these past experiences until after I moved everything out of the bathroom and taped and cut the corners. Well, there was no way out now. Thankfully, I managed to pick a non-poo color this time (Hey! Progress!). The plain white walls soaked up the rich turquoise color like a dry, thirsty, barren land. Or like my neglected roots. I still hadn't learned patience however, staying up until 1 in the morning to put on the final coat (but I did let the first coat dry first. Hey! More progress!).
All in all, I must say I'm pretty pleased with my third ever attempt at wall painting. My bathroom is now a vibrant, happy little shoebox with rich, colorful walls and a bright white ceiling (with only a few accidental drips of turquoise in sporadic places throughout). Heaven help me the next time Eddie goes away...only the big rooms are left!