It’s not a problem. It’s just DIY!

The kitchen units are in and all that is left is the straightforward task of painting the ceiling and walls. What could go wrong? I have a day off each week for writing, so a morning of painting and thinking through the next chapter sounds okay to me. I rummage through the garage, gathering the necessary equipment: paint, rollers, paintbrushes, covers. It’ll be done in a jiffy. I decide to start in the tricky corner (pipes, boiler) and work my round. It takes a while to put up the step ladder, but soon I am balanced precariously on one leg at the top of it, trying to reach in behind the pipes. I nearly lose my balance almost bringing the boiler off the wall. Soon I am getting into the swing of it, though as always, I seem to get more paint on me that the wall. Then the phone rings. At first, I pretend I can’t hear it. It never rings on Thursdays. People know I am working. It could be the school. The children could be ill. I teeter off the ladder and run to get the phone. It’s my mother.
‘Hello what are you up to?’
‘Painting’
‘That’s nice. I won’t keep you.’ Then she proceeds to tell me, over the next ten minutes, the troubles she is having getting her friend’s Christmas present. He wants a football hat. She’s seen one on line, but she doesn’t want to buy it because of identity theft. Would I get it for her? I try to tell her that if anyone knew her, they wouldn’t take her identity. She accuses me of being rude. So it’s okay for me to have my identity nicked but not her. In the end, I relent.
‘Okay which website did you visit?’ There’s a pause. I take it that’s ‘website? what’s a website?’
‘Okay what football hat?’
‘Chelsea.’
‘Yes but what type? Woolly? Peaked?…’ Another pause.
‘I’ll get back to you.’
I return to my painting, startled to see a line of paint splodges across the carpet. How in the hell did that happen? I was so careful. I wipe them up (luckily they come out) and resume my position of ….precariously perched on the ladder. No sooner than I am painting and the phone rings AGAIN. I must confess I think I swore at this point. Down the ladder I go and race to the phone. It stops just as I get there. I am NOT happy. Back up the ladder. I survey the room. Why does it always look so much bigger when you have a paintbrush in your hand? An hour has passed and my impact on the room has been negligible. I start to paint and jump in shock when I hear my mobile buzz. Perhaps it’s important. I make my way back down the ladder, accidentally treading on the paint lid and getting paint all over my sock. More curses and hopping across the room, I am dismayed to see it is my mother AGAIN.
‘You didn’t answer the phone when I called back’ I growl ‘so I’m texting you woolly.’ I assume that this means woolly hat. As I hop back across the room. It occurs to me how bizarre it is that I am doing a retired person’s Christmas shopping, when I don’t in fact have any time to do my own! Back up the ladder again and I am dismayed to see from my bird’s eye view of the kitchen that the painting poltergeist has been smattering splodges of white paint on the floor, in parts of the kitchen, I swear I haven’t been in. Back down with a damp cloth and I am beginning to lose the will to live. The phone goes again. I am going to give the woman a piece of my mind.
‘Yes?’ I growl. A startled voice down the phone responds. It is my husband. I calm down. ‘Sorry’ I add meekly ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing’s up’ he replies far to chirpily for my liking. ‘I just wondered how the painting was going?’
‘AHHHHHHH!’

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~ by envisioningutopia on December 3, 2011.

One Response to “It’s not a problem. It’s just DIY!”

  1. hahaha! this has just made my day… Very funny – can’t stop laughing 🙂

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