Is to paint the downstairs kitchen and the stairwell/landing which connects the first and second floor and not give poor Emile an aneurism. Frankly, taking a moment at 2:30pm here for a cup of tea, that last is going to prove most difficult.

Poor Emile. Was up very late packing, couldn’t sleep. Up early because the day had to be, and after the usual routine, he needed to make a quick stop at Home depot for more Painter’s tape. (Mask some windows, etc. Ran out late last night while doing the prep work.)

So I am in the kitchen, doing some trim painting while he’s at the store. While he is there, he suddenly looks at his hands and goes “What the fuck?” because he is covered in wet paint. Seems someone in the store spilled some and he got nailed.

Okay, now he is home, and we are talking a bit and I tell him there is no need to prime the caulking he did yesterday, the paint will work fine as is.

He goes, “Cool. How is it drying?” and bends down to poke the caulking. You guessed it, I had just painted it (white on white) and he goes “What the fuck?!” and with a snarl goes to wash off. Meanwhile I am thinking he’d better get used to it...

Now, usually, having more patience and steadier hand I do all the masking with the tape, only there is still so much to do, so I grab a roll and head off to do those a’cursed six-over-six glass panes and I say he can do along the kitchen floor if he wants. (Not like we are going to do the floor trim untill the rest is done ayhows. Dropcloth picks up too much paint and smears when moved.) I am in the hallway working when there is a true shout of swears beginning from the kitchen. (I can't help it and start laughing.) Emile is in some bad state. Why? He sat down on the drop cloth and “surprise” since I was painting it had drops of paint on it. (Go figure.)

Oh man, he just looses it. Starts yelling and telling me (beyond the “What the hell are you laughing at?” with bright red face,) I am fucking up everything because he has drops of paint on his shoes and ass. I am like, “Hello, you know I was painting in here and the drop cloth is there for a reason.” As well as “Welcome to my world and what I’ve been dealing with.” (Besides, he is dressed for painting, what’s the big deal?)

Not good enough and I get a real chewing out while he whips up the plastic in a huge ball and we continue. Of course, since he was pissed he did it wrong so now the drop cloth has wet paint on both sides and is utterly useless by the time I am ready to start painting again...while Emile, cursing me out as being “anal” for bothering to mask the windows, climbs the ladder (which I am not allowed on at such heights) so he can work on the upper window. His first time working on one of those bastards and it takes him an hour or more, swearing at me the whole time.

FINALLY he gets to start priming the sanded down raw wood and I ask “How’s it going?” He says, “Without the tape this would be impossible.”

Bingo, babe. You got it.

Not to mention I painted nearly the entire blasted kitchen while he primed the windows. He’s much better at the large, wide areas then detail work. Ah well!

Okay, tea done and back to work!

Whew!

Cheers,

Melissa