How I Ended Up Painting The Bathroom Against My Will

I had to put off mowing the lawn last week.

The grass was too wet.

No surprise there. Rain has been soaking my neighborhood for months.

I was out walking our Big Dog Rodney last Thursday when my neighbor across the street wondered aloud if it would ever stop raining. And on Friday morning, the water in the lower part of  the neighborhood had washed over the road for the umpteenth time.

I wasn't heartbroken about the delay in cutting the grass. I think I've made clear my position on being forced to mow. But that doesn't mean I was able to kick back, crack open a beer and boot up a few episodes of "Star Trek" on my days off from the newsroom.

I was too busy.

For one thing, I had to take Rodney to the vet. He needed his annual rabies shot. I also had to go to the grocery store, do some laundry, vacuum, mop the kitchen floor, get dinner on the table and put the dishes away.

Standard chores.

But my week also included an atypical job. I had to finish painting the bathroom.

My wife has been after me to paint the bathroom for years. And for years, I've thoughtfully stroked my beard and assured her that it was on my radar.

But the time for reflection ran its course last week. And I have to acknowledge that I was the agent of my own doom.

A few weeks ago, my wife and I were discussing the longstanding bathroom issue when I suggested that we actually pick a color.

In all the years that I have successfully dodged bathroom painting, not once has the question of color come up.


But I had to open my mouth when I should have stuck with vague assurances while fiddling with my chin hair as if I were an ancient Greek philosopher searching for some sort of deeper meaning behind painting bathrooms, instead of a lazy husband desperate to return to his favorite chair in front of the TV.

Not long after I made my suggestion, I realized what a dumb move I'd made - I found those sample cards you can pick up at the paint store.

I discovered those stupid cards while on a bathroom break from catching up on Marvel's "Luke Cage" on Netflix. They were on the counter, right next to the sink. My wife brought them home to achieve color clarity.

I didn't think she'd actually do it. She's a busy woman, after all. She works all day and doesn't stop until well after dark when she returns home from walking Rodney all over town. I honestly believed that if I put the onus on her to pick a color, she'd be too consumed by her daily routine to make a choice.

I was wrong. She made time to go to the paint store and was ... expecting.

Plus, I didn't count on her enlisting our teenage daughter. My wife knew what she was doing when she asked her to the make the color choice. She was now expecting, too.

That's how I ended up fetching home a gallon of primer, a gallon of blue paint, a decent brush, a couple of new rollers and a roller pan. All the supplies you need to paint a bathroom.

The job is done now, but if I thought I would be rewarded with nothing to do on my days off this week, I was wrong.

The sun came out.

The grass is calling and I must mow.


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