Tuesday, August 08, 2006

No Thanks

It's inevitable. The other half of the shed must be painted. What do I speak of? Hmm...where do I begin? While I was away at school my parents decided that the old, rusty, spider infested shed leaning up against our pretty new deck must go. I heartily agreed. Its shabby metal doors had been dented in to an extend which made opening them as difficult as breaking free a CD from it's 80 million layers of plastic wrap and security stickers (I HATE THAT!). By the time I arrived home in May all that was left of Rusty was its rotted foundation, and days later a stack of fresh lumbar was delivered for the new shed to be built out in the back corner of the yard. This is where the trouble began.
My father and I marched out to tackle this project head on with hopes in our hearts and a gleam in each eye. How hard could it be? Just a little bit of saw cutting, pop in a few nails here and there, and then slap on a coat of paint. We foolishly believed the project would only take a few days. In fact I remember from my own ignorant lips the comment, "We can have this done before the sun goes down."
Silly foolish girl.
We began to haul the wood around back. We continued to haul the wood around back. Still hauling....even more...sinking feeling...I began to consider the idea that perhaps we were not building a shed, but a one car garage or perhaps a guest house...still hauling. After we finally got all the wood around back I shakily voiced my concern, "This is no shed is it Dad?"
"It's actually more like the size of a barn," he laughed. Not funny. Seriously, once the frame was up it was determined we could park my sister's car inside and still have room for all of our bikes.
The size alone was daunting, but the real treat was to find out that this "easy-to-do" shed kit was put together by Satin himself. He slid the wrong directions into our box, warped our wood, possessed our circular saw, gave us nails which leaped freely from the wood and across the lawn as we tried to hammer them in, and worst of all...the most horrible offense...he used his demonic powers to make the wood super-absorbant. A month and a half later (yes it took us a month and a half!) we came to the painting step. It was crunch time now, with just days left till the rehearsal dinner. My dad was overwhelmed with other preparations and so I boldy proclaimed, "Don't worry Dad, I'll get the shed painted."
IDIOT!
Again (because apparently I don't learn from my mistakes) I marched out to our shed-barn optimistic, and ready to take on this simple task. I popped open the primer, stirred, and dipped my brush in. I held the brush in my hand hovering over the shed wall. A naive smile sprung across my face as I imagined how quickly this large wooden structure would transform into a beautiful red barn. As I made my first stroke the smile began to fade. The paint was sucked up instantly and I barely got through my stroke before the brush decided to no longer administer paint. Confused, I dipped and tried again. Same thing. In case I've failed to mention it...this shed is the size of a barn and suddenly my mom's clever thought to paint it as such no longer seemed amusing to me. 3 strokes in I was fuming. 4 strokes in I glared angrily toward the house cursing the rest of its 6 inhabitants not helping me. 5 strokes in I debated knocking the whole shed down and blaming it on a very region specific earthquake. 6 strokes in I prayed one of the many falling acorns from the tree above would hit me atop the head and knock me unconscious. 7 strokes in I decided it was only necessary to paint the two walls of the shed which could be seen from the deck. 9 hours of brutal work spread over the course of 3 evenings and the two walls had been primed, covered in two coats of paint, and I had even painted white trim for the barn effect. I walked away from the barn feeling a sense of accomplishment and relief. I smiled contently as our guests later that week commented on how wonderful the new shed across the yard looked. After the night of the rehearsal dinner, I never once thought of the barn again.
Until yesterday.
My father had a big grin on his face as I walked into the house. "Guess what I bought for you today!"
I didn't trust that possessed look in his eye and I looked past him out through the back door. There sitting on the deck were three cans. My eyes squinted as I read the words PRIMER, and BARN RED.
H to the NO!
Pictures to follow.

2 comments:

Margaux said...

to make you feel better, babe, the barn did look pretty amazing.

Bridget said...

thanks!