For Trying Out Loud

Written for a prompt: Write a story or poem about a home improvement project that goes amiss.

734 WORDS.

Winner of "The Writer's Cramp"  [13+] on 9/24/09, for which it was written.

This was later entered in November 2009's open round of "Young Stars Shine Your Light Contest"  [E] and took 2nd place.

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It was supposed to be simple.

After all, only a few things come to mind when you hear the words “paint the kitchen”.  You don’t usually equate painting a kitchen with ruined kitchen appliances, peach-colored feet, and dog accidents….but that’s just the small stuff.

I guess we should start at the beginning of the week. My mom was looking at our kitchen and frowning.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s so… plain,” my mom said. “I think it could use a fresh coat of paint.”

Thus began our doom.

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Tuesday.

Sunny, bright.

Not the kind of day you expect a great shadow of Doom to be following you.

“I guess you can just use the roller,” said my dad as he unrolled a giant plastic sheet on the floor and kitchen island.

“Okay,” I said cheerfully, grabbing a roller and submerging it into the paint tray In retrospect, I should’ve just lightly coated the roller. As I was slathering the paint on the biggest wall, I was aware of a drip-drip-dripping. Oops. That would be my roller.

I quickly took the roller down and wiped it with a paper towel. I threw the paper towel in the general vicinity of the trash can and continued to coat the wall in a nice, thick layer of paint.

Uh-oh. I had just spread the beautiful peach to the cabinet as well. I reached down to grab the paper towel I had just used, but I couldn’t find it! Not good, I thought as I looked around for it, but didn’t see it.  I heard my dog shaking, his tag clinking,  in the next room and gasped.

He had completely demolished the paper towel (hopefully with his paws) and was looking at me guiltily. “What are you doing?” I said in a stern voice.

I stepped forward and felt my sock absorb something warm and wet. “WHAT--“ I cried, looking down at my now yellow sock. “BAD BOY!” I screamed, practically throwing him outside to finish his business. I grabbed a plastic bag and began to stuff the soiled paper towel remains and the yellow plastic painting sheet. My sock was a squishy, icky, reminder until I peeled that off as well.

When I had finished, I cleaned the floor up and then after making sure he hadn’t swallowed any of that paint, went back to the kitchen.

Now, cleaning up a mess takes a bit of time.

Paint to dry on a cabinet takes a bit of time.

That was precisely the problem.

“Oh SHOOT!” I yelled, even though my mom disapproved of us yelling that around the house. I took another paper towel, soaked it in hot water, and tried to scrub the now dried paint off the cabinet. Some of it came off.

He-heh. Hopefully this old cabinet was so dinged up anyway they’d just want to replace it.

Now the big clumps of paint also dried on the wall somewhat, so I quickly smoothed them out with the roller.

I stepped back and took a breath. This might turn out okay, I thought.

I glanced at the clock and figured my dad wouldn’t come back home from Home Depot for another moment. I looked at the cabinet, of which half of it was scraped and gouged, while the rest was coated in peach.

While trying to dispose of the trash, my foot hooked around the handle of the still half-full paint can. Now my foot was officially Elusive Peach. “OOH!” I cried, as my foot snapped up, tipping the paint can onto my bare foot. I screamed, lifting my foot and hopping to the sink, frantically washing it until five minutes later, I was sure I wouldn’t die from arsenic poisoning.

I gritted my teeth and took a look at the damage. The fridge was coated with paint. Just the bottom half, I thought dismally.

I slopped more water onto it as the garage door opened.

“Belle?” my dad called.

“Um…  I accidentally-- I’ll clean it up,” I called back in a shaky voice. He tinkered around the garage and I let out my breath. I took a kitchen towel and cleaned up all the hot water pooling on the floor. The kitchen actually looked presentable, I thought, taking another once-over at the house.

I put on my shoes and opened the back door to bring my dog back in.

No dog.

Open fence.

I know I’m the one in advanced math and all, but you figure it out.