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Kicking the Bucket

August 14, 2012

There, all done. Finished. And it looks pretty good. I breathe a sigh of relief. A job well done, I think. The only thing left to do is clean up. Not my favorite job, but necessary, nonetheless.

The new kitchen looks great…pale blue freshly painted walls. The paint isn’t even dry yet, and it looks fantastic! Clean, fresh and crisp. Good to go. I can’t wait to work in here.

The fridge is second-hand, but you’d never know it by looking at it…not a ding or a nick in the finish. Inside, the clear drawers sparkle…no blemishes there. The apples and oranges neatly arranged in the left-hand drawer, and carrots, celery and peppers in the right. Their colors visible through the clear plastic, add a splash of color to the otherwise stark white interior. Better Homes and Gardens would be proud to feature my fridge. It’s beautiful, plain and simple. The nicest fridge I’ve ever had. And, unlike my last fridge, clean and orderly on the inside, too. But alas, that won’t last. Who am I trying to kid?
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The dishwasher is used, too. But it’s one of those that has interchangeable front panels. I had my choice of black, harvest gold, poppy red or avocado green. Since the gold, red and green are all reminiscent of the 70’s, and therefore dated, I chose black. Black is sleek and modern. Very me.

Now, we bought the stove from Sears. Brand new. Almond colored gas stove with a self-cleaning oven. Their white model was not on close-out. Never had a new stove before, especially one with a self-cleaning oven. I’m actually looking forward to having a dirty oven…just so I can run the clean cycle.

The cupboards were purchased from a private homeowner who was updating his kitchen. I just gave them a face-lift with a new coat of paint. White paint. And I personalized them with a small floral design hand-painted in the lower corners of the upper doors, and the upper corners of the lower cabinet doors. I think they reflect my personality well.

I like my new kitchen. Open and airy with big windows. Plenty of counter space, too. And, it’s got a good work triangle with the sink and fridge on one wall, and the stove just opposite on the island. I know it won’t look like this often…old habits die hard. We’re just not neat and tidy people. It’s not in our DNA.

I think I inherited a messy gene from an ancestor. I’m very organized, but messy. I can find most anything in my house…I know which pile or bag I’ve filed the electric bill, the grocery list, my church council notes or Jim’s honey-do list. It’s not a pretty system, but it works for me.

So, now I drag my roller, paintbrush and tray down to the laundry tubs for cleaning. I’m the one who does the interior painting at our house. Having learned from my grandmother how to cut a clean line with a brush, I’m better qualified than my beloved husband. His idea of a detail tool is a 9 inch roller. Just look at our garage. That’ll tell the story.

Jimbo prefers a role in quality control where painting is concerned…and he offers suggestions like ‘you missed a spot’, and ‘are you sure that’s the right color?’ Now, don’t get me wrong, I love that man. I just don’t like him too much when he wears that particular hat.

After cleaning and stowing my tools, I place the plastic cover on the top of the five gallon paint bucket and step up, taking care to step only on the outer rim. I work my way around the edge by lightly shifting my weight from side to side making sure it’s tightly sealed.

I’ve done this dozens of times before. A long time ago! I weighed 95 pounds, for Heaven’s sake! And there’s no way I’m telling you what I weigh now. My balance was better back then, too, although perhaps, not so much at that particular moment.

You guessed, it; ker-plunk! And before I knew what happened, I was sitting on the floor with my right foot, Reebok included, in a bucket of pale blue latex paint. My gray sweatpants were now more blue than gray. And the rest of me was splattered as well. Even my hair. Light blue paint does not look good in blonde hair. And my glasses were smeared up, too.

‘Jimbo!’ I called, ‘Help!’

I heard his footfalls on the stairs and then he peeked around the corner. Now I’ve got to give him a little credit here…he didn’t laugh right away. He almost got the whole question, short though it was, out before his laughter betrayed him…’What happened?’

Now this is not my finest moment, but Jim sure seemed to enjoy it. Didn’t his mother teach him not to make fun of others? I was in a predicament here, and I needed help. His help. Now. This paint would soon dry and be even harder to get out of my hair. And, this was before the days of brightly dyed hair. We never saw anyone with pink, blue or green hair. Ever. Anywhere. I did not want to be the first.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I snarled. I maintain, it does not take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened here…woman on floor with foot stuck in a bucket of paint…paint puddled on floor and spattered on said woman. DUH!

‘Hang on, I’ll get some rags,’ he says, helpfully.

Sarcastically, I reply ‘Thank you!’

He returns with the rags, setting them down on the wash machine. Then he whips the camera out from behind his back and snaps a picture before he tosses me the rags and makes a run for it.

I mutter something like ‘He’d better run…just wait until I catch him!’

Now, in hindsight I ask myself…would I have done it any differently had our roles been reversed?

No way! I would have preferred to trade roles! And I would have taken more pictures.

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One Comment
  1. Good thing he doesn’t know how to post a video to YouTube!

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