We May Have Made The Big C Cry

In every painting project, there is a period of self-doubt. That split-second when you realize that the calm, pleasant, silvery color you’ve chosen for every single ceiling and closet interior is the same shade of drab, drywall gray you’ve been trying to cover for two hours. That moment when you startle yourself by unconsciously humming a certain commercial’s jingle, and realize that the Sherman Williams Teaberry the girls picked for their room is less princess and more Pepto.

Don’t even get me started on tiling.

The Big C has endured two weeks of solid disappointment from us. First I attempted to tile the girls’ tub surround, only to admit defeat and beg for him to fix it. That, dear readers, is another post for another time.

Then came the priming. Oh, dear heavens, the priming.

Our first mistake, which garnered a stunned blink or two from our beloved contractor, was to purchase primer that was 100% tinted. The Big C prefers that primer be tinted to 10% of the color, so there is no chance of missing a spot when the top coat goes on.

With this painting crew, I think it's safe to say we'll miss a few spots.

Our second mistake, which caused The Big C to drop his jaw in disbelief, was to paint the walls with rollers before we’d cut in. Just as a careful kindergartner wields her Crayon, when painting it’s important to do all of the edging first to help you stay in the lines. I did most of the girls’ nausea-calming walls and Chris did most of their drywall-colored ceiling before The Big C made a special telephone call to inform us of this egregious error.

"Hello? Why, yes, I'm painting right now, Big C! Is there a problem?"

But we weren’t finished screwing up. Not even close.

Third on the list of Reasons Chris and Heather Should Keep Their Day Jobs was that we failed to leave a “wet edge.” We stopped before finishing a wall, or a room, or a ceiling. We just sort of … stopped. Whenever we felt tired or hungry or started to wonder if our DVR was buckling under the pressure of having us away so long.

When The Big C inspected our work the next morning, I imagine he swallowed his tongue in horror. It’s just a guess, based solely on the incoherent sputtering noises he made on the phone when he called to inquire whether we were just really, really lazy or really, really stupid.

Both, I told him.

The final mistake we made when priming the third floor of our lovely, old house, was perhaps the simplest: We didn’t put enough paint on the roller. “You’ve really got to load it up,” The Big C told Chris after he’d laid in wait to ambush Chris during his daily mail pickup. “I mean, really load it up.”

He's talking to you, Sophie.

Like I said, The Big C has been through a lot these past few weeks. And I haven’t even gotten to the tiling debacle. I’ll save that for tomorrow, after Chris finishes painting the ceiling.

Load it up, Chris. Load it up.