The Nightstand

This tale begins with a trip to a rummage sale where my son and I found this side table:

He’s been needing a new nightstand for a while and we were able to pick this up for $3.00. Then we had to get it home. Have I mentioned that I don’t drive? And that the top of this table is made out of stone?  I carried this for eight painful blocks back to our apartment. I wanted to start working on it right away; a total inability to grasp items or stop my forearms from shaking prevented that version of reality from happening.

The next day we went to the paint store, where my son chose this:

and we listened to the merciful strains of Queen, which helped to drown out the sounds of the screaming child running back and forth through the store.

By the time we got home, I was desperate to start painting. Have you heard? It rains a lot in Portland and I have nowhere to paint something this large but outside in the driveway of my building, so I had to get crackin’. After the first coat, I was was having some dubious feelings about this table- it looked like it belonged in the French Provincial bedroom set of a little girl who methodically pulls the limbs off of Barbie dolls when no one is watching. Visual:

It was also at this point, during a bathroom break, that I realized I had painted part of my hair blue. My son chose a high gloss paint. I guess I haven’t used this for a long time and forgot what a nightmare it can be to work with. Never use a cheap brush, or paint in a breeze or direct sunlight, or be impatient if you want a high gloss finish to turn out well.

When I couldn’t take it anymore and was headed for a Type A rage incident, I stopped and called it a damn day. We now have this:

and this:

and my son loves it and I love him. (Sweet Jesus. Does rental carpet ever look clean?)

finis

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