This particular stuff is going to be VINTAGE DECOR for my freshly painted basement rec room. We finally hired it out, as we painted it ourselves a couple of years ago and it never quite "meshed" with what my brain had in mind. In fact, Brain was a little bit angry when it saw what had turned out.
"What the H?" Brain demanded. "Who thought of this? Seriously, whose idea was that?"
I shrank into the background and tried to slink away~but Brain pointed a finger at me and began to shake it violently, "YOU! I should have known!"
I started to sob, "I'll fix it, OK? I'm sorry, Brain, I'm sorry! I'll fix it!" Brain was disgusted and unmoved by my tears. Brain hates me sometimes.
But you know, it wasn't entirely my fault what happened down there, as husband was quick to shirk. And by shirk, I mean halfway through the process, he handed the bucket and roller to the oh so detail oriented 16 year old son and said, "Here. You finish." And husband walked away. I am not even shizzing you!
No instructions, no pointers, no guidance whatsoever.
"It's for his own good. (mine) I'm trying to make him a MAN, Lis. (I'm tired and a slacker.) That's how the boy will learn. (to hate painting...and me.) He'll figure it out." (I'm going to pour me a Coke with lime.)
And he did figure it out. To the horror of Brain and the walls of my home. They wept at what they'd become.
Enter the professional painter, robin's egg blue walls, white bead board and my stuff! ~ Cherry red frames around classic calendar prints...a red leather and chrome step stool chair...more vintage prints with the likes of freckled little boys eating baked beans in cowboy hats, to 1950's housewives in heels and crinoline, with red lipstick smiles...a reproduction pay phone...vintage model cars...huge floral pillows tossed on the furniture...and me smiling at the potential for happiness and joy with a colorful, magnificent pile of stuff.
Bless stuff's heart.
(I told you I'd fix it, Brain. Now shut it.)