Tonight I helped Narns paint her new bathroom a white-ish colour called "Hare" that isn't supposed to look as pink as it currently does.
I went over after dinner and forgot to bring any painting clothes, so I had to fashion a voluminous diaper out of a garbage bag (two holes in the bottom for my legs, gathered and belted around my waste) and stand balanced on the edge of the bathtub to reach the high places. I spilled paint on the floor, the toilet, my feet, and somehow, the ceiling. It was awesome.
We went to Bean while it started to dry (Marian doesn't believe in waiting the full five hours, or however long you're supposed to, between coats) and drank cider that looked like pee but tasted like cider. I wasn't wearing the diaper anymore, at this point. We tried to draw in the very bad light cast by the candle at our table. It was fairly impossible.
My car was gone when we got back to the apartment. I'd parked it illegally, so the back end was on the wrong side of the all-important parking pole.
A clever bit of detective work - I couldn't remember my license plate number - and the girl at the impound lot said they had Argo. She didn't actually call my car "Argo", but you can't blame her for that because she didn't know. I could hear her smoking over the phone. She said they were open 24-hours, so we thought we'd finish painting. And we did. Like crazy.
At around 11:45 Marian drove me downtown and we found the impound lot where it's hidden under the Granville St bridge. The girl in the booth opened a little sliding window to talk to us, and the smell of cigarettes wafted out. I had a strong hit of deja vu.
I paid the fine and we walked around looking for Argo in the sea of jailed cars. There was a little Gulfstream trailer against a bridge support that I kind of wanted, but my own sweet little Jetta was beeping at me, "nugh nugh", when I pressed the button on my key remote.
The reunion was all you could imagine, including me saying goodnight to Narns and getting into Argo and driving home.
Is this anecdote going anywhere? No ma'am.
My knuckles are spotted with Hare.
3 comments:
I'm guessing that, tragically, there is no photographic evidence of you in the garbage bag outfit? Because I want to see that. I like painting but I've never done it wearing a garbage bag. I feel so boring.
Why does cider always look like pee?? Mysteries of life.
And poor Argo, how traumatizing!
I'm awful at choosing paint colours. For rooms, anyway. Except with Kimi's apartment - I helped good, there.
I'll try to coax Claire back into the rustling plastic shorties (makeover, makeover?). And then it will be all love, between her and the camera.
We painted again today but I wore pants, because pants were available and I felt pressured by society to conform. But I have to say, it was the wrong choice. Who was it that said: I do not regret the things I've done, but the garbage bag diaper I did not wear? Because that dude had smart all over him.
Now I have a massive blister on my painting finger. Because apparently I have a painting finger? Nrrrr.
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