I just realized that I might be able to blog from my phone! Perhaps this is more exciting for me than it is for you.
Yesterday I went to the paint store two times, and today I went back again. This is not such a bad thing, because the world’s cutest man works at the paint store. He is so cute, in fact, but I began wondering if I could have a future with somebody who works at the paint store. And who is half my age. And who would have to be into old white women.
I begin to wonder if possibly he was getting a law degree or something, and working at the paint store to support himself while he goes to school. This is how cute we’re talking.
This is where I’m blogging from. Not just from my pathetic state of denial, but also from one of Peg’s Adirondack chairs that is now in my backyard, with a view of Edsel at his pee tree. I am, in fact, being munched by mosquitoes, but it’s so pleasant out that I’m putting up with it.
I can’t blog at you the traditional way, the way our founding fathers did, as my computer is unplugged because I am painting in the damn back room.
I won’t even bore you with the journey of shades and colors I just went through these past few days. That’s what my mother is for. She is trying to move into her new house and I’ve called her 4900 6825 1622 times to discuss paint colors with her. I went from yellow to green to cream, and I realize cream is boring, but that’s where we are. We are at boring.
Here is the first coat. “Wow, June, that looks so… not remotely different.”
I am painting the spare bedroom in that pretty green called Quietude. But not today. I’m doing enough today. My mother accused me of having a manic episode today. I don’t HAVE manic episodes. I’m too lazy for manic episodes.
As soon as I finished the first coat of paint, Steely Dan came in and put his paws and nose right on the wet wall. The good news is I have made several tennis rackets from cat guts today, so.
I just realized that the picture up there looks less cream and more white, but I promise you in real life it’s more cream and less white. Are you wondering if it’s possible if I could turn into a more dull person right now, with my paint and my colors and my cream and my shades and my shades of cream?
In my cream room. With black curtains. At the station.
Speaking of black-and-white, and maybe a little black on top of white, I need another reason to get back to the paint store. I’m trying to think of sexy ways to lure the paint salesman over to my home. You think my taste in cream paint would be enough. Or my hot 52-year-old physique.
We’re talking cute, y’all.
“Who, me? Well, yes, I DO think it’s appropriate to shop for paint in pasties and a G string, officer. You have a problem with that?”
I’ll talk to you later. It’s time for my second coat of cream. You’re the cream in my coffee. You’re the salt in my stool.
Stew, stupid Siri.