So Mi Madre decided to remodel our yoga studio a little while ago, internet, and today was Paint Day.
Before Paint Day, I thought that I was pretty good at painting.
I thought wrong.
We had Mamma Mia, my Padre, my roommate Varenka, another studio employee, and Bob the Builder (the remodeling guy) in to help with stage one of the painting. Varenka and I were assigned a new set of shelving to prime for painting, while the rest of the crew were spackling, taping, and painting the rest of the space.
Varenka and I looked at each other.
Shelving? we thought. Easy peasy.
We were so wrong.
It turns out that Varenka and I are horribly inept at painting, which is funny, because I have a degree in Studio Art and I SPENT MOST OF THAT TIME PAINTING.
However, Art painting and painting painting are apparently not at all alike.
Art painting you can splash some contrasting colors on a ripped canvas smothered in a mixture of baby oil and chicken feathers and call it a day.
Painting painting you have to actually pay attention to.
Varenka and I spend a whole hour with our entire torsos shoved into these shelving units poking around with paintbrushes while everyone else in the room apparently magicked the paint flawlessly onto the walls.
After about two hours of this, at which point Varenka and I had essentially finished nothing and the rest of the room was essentially done, Bob the Builder took pity on us and casually mentioned that we could use a paint roller.
It still took us another hour to finish the damn thing.
But we finished.
It then took both of us another hour to clean off the paint which had bonded with our skin at a subatomic level. I still have paint clinging to me in places I do not care to mention.
I guess at the end of the day we both felt that us being in the studio that day was slightly more helpful then us not being in the studio, which is something.