This weekend, while most of you were at BlogPaws, I decided I should also be productive and paint my downstairs bathroom. I was a little nervous about the endeavor because my mom has been there to help (and do all of the fine touches like around the ceiling), but the bathroom isn't huge and Lowe's was having a great rebate offer on paint (they still are for another few days if anyone else needs paint), so I figured I could handle things.
I managed to get all of the litter Soth had kicked around the bathroom cleaned up and painter's tape around the shower tiles in no time at all and was ready to start my adventure by early afternoon. I used a brush to cut in around the edges and the outlets the way my mom had shown me when we did the bedroom and kitchen. I used the roller to do the first coat on the majority of the wall.
Then it was time to do the part I was dreading--the top few inches of the wall. I hate heights. If I can help it, I stay off of ladders. Even going up one or two steps is more than I like to do. But I couldn't just leave the top of the wall until my mom could come visit and take care of that for me, so I braced myself and latched the roller pan onto the ladder's shelf and climbed up.
At first, there were no problems. I made it through a wall and a half with just a few little spots on my very popcorned ceiling (which painter's tape does not stick to) and I was feeling pretty confident. Then I needed to move the ladder and I'm not exactly sure what happened after that. Maybe I stepped too far and went past the last step. Maybe I didn't step far enough. But the next thing I knew, I was falling off the ladder, the paint can was knocked over (but miraculously righted itself), and then I was falling into the bathtub.
If the paint can wouldn't have been involved, I probably would have laid in the tub and wallowed for a while, but I managed to get myself up to assess the damage. There was paint everywhere (although somehow the majority of the paint was still in the can)--on the toilet (and in it), on the tub, on the drop cloth, on the floor, and all over me.
|After hours of clean up, this still remains.|
I might have cursed a few times. There was definitely a loud crash (or two or three) during the fall. But guess who never once decided to check on me?
In reality, I'm glad she didn't check on me (but still, it's the principle of the thing!). She would have stepped in the paint and taken the mess outside of the bathroom. She probably would have given me the same look of disdain that she gives me when I slip on ice while we walk. Quite simply, she expects more from me than Lassie ever expected from Timmy. She expects me to be aware of my surroundings and to be less klutzy--and if I'm going to fall in a well, it's going to be up to me figure out how to get myself back out.
So, I stripped off my paint covered clothes so I could leave the bathroom to get a bucket and sponge and I got to work cleaning up my mess. And when that was done, I got back on the ladder and finished the job.
|Thanks for making my thunder shelter prettier.|
I'm happy to report the rest of the job was incident free and my bathroom is now a lovely shade of Dorian Gray. (Also, my mom is more sympathetic than my dog, so someone still let me get a good cry in over this.)