Dear oil-based paint,
I knew I hated you even before I started using you today. I expected an awful, terrible mess to clean up after applying you, the final coat, on both porches this morning. That’s why we bought throw away brushes and rollers, so I wouldn’t have to mess with cleaning them out, because I know cleaning up after using you is a huge pain in the tuckus.
What I DIDN’T know was how you long you would take to dry. I didn’t know that when I painted both porches during morning nap time, I would be stuck in my house for hours on end until you dried. I didn’t expect that when trying to leave the house carrying Abby and the mail on a jaunt to the mailbox, we would get stuck and have to leave both of my flip flops in your still-wet-and-taking-your-sweet-time-to-dry state. And I was less than thrilled at having to walk across you barefoot to get back inside the house, thus coating my feet in white, impossible-to-remove paint.
My poor, poor flip flops will bear your scars forever. I’m pretty sure they hate you, too.
Sigh. Thank you for teaching me to read labels on paint cans before using them. And for teaching me to not paint both porches at the same time when using you in the future, thus causing us to be house-bound. We hate being house-bound.
I do appreciate how lovely you make our porches look. But I do NOT want to see ANY sign of you until it’s time to undertake this project again next summer.