I wish these overalls came in pink madras…
I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but I have become an All-Pro house painter. Ok, maybe not that great, but i’m pretty darn good…fast, neat, paint the edges with not tape (nerves of steel, baby). I can do a nice job, and after a while, I kind of accept it and get into it even (a little bit).
I have a painting problem, in fact. I can’t seem to stop.
Now, how would I, a former consultant and current dad/blogger/online media mogul get to be so good at said task?? Well, there’s none other than my wife of over a decade to thank for this fantastic prowess of the paint.
How did she grant me this gift, you ask? Is she a great painter? Did she train you? Did she send you to paint school? Alas nave, you would be incorrect on all accounts. It is her never ending, insatiable desire to repaint rooms in the house at a break neck pace. It’s all the time, it’s all the rooms, it’s non-stop no matter Whitestone or Garden City. It’s become expected and accepted in my house, but it’s a riot no less. She literally thinks changing the color on the walls is akin to changing your underwear or Brita filter.
Now, granted, the end results are typically good and we all celebrate, do a dance, and say this looks great. Nice job all around. I’ve even gotten to the point that I don’t despise the notion of painting and making yet another change to the room, which is a whole lot or progress.
I guess it’s part of my lot in life. It’s kind of one of those things I’d miss if it were to stop…I continue to tell myself. You know, Bill, the paint pro.