In the spirit of keeping up with the “Crafty Neighbors That Surround Me” (There’s probably a Jones in that mix somewhere), I painted our table and chairs. You know, ‘cause that’s an easy “beginners” project. I’m pretty sure my “Crafty Neighbors” would have tackled this project with much more common sense than I seem to possess.
For instance, it seems fairly standard that you would paint the parts of the table in the middle first, since it’s quite a stretch to reach that center, so leaning up against the edge of the table is inevitable. In my four pregnancy, brain cell robbed mind, I painted the edges first. Suffice it to say, I’m one Nike t-shirt down. If strands of my hair appear to be black, they are. I might have pinned myself into a corner (as the saying goes) under the table, against one of the freshly painted legs (and I mean, of the table…not my own, although they too sported their fair share of the black paint).
Not that you can really see a difference, but the table was a reddish color on top and black on the bottom, and now it’s just all black. The chairs were black too, but they had a hint of old splattered milk (I think that’s what it was), and chipped off remains of crusted Cheerio’s and Frosted Flakes. Now, they are just plain black—flare to be added within the next few days I’m sure, when we have cereal for breakfast.
The saddest part of this story is that I still have a little over a half gallon of black paint left. My brain is drifting about, conjuring up other things to paint! A door, the little ghetto cabinet in our front room, the brand new electric fireplace we put downstairs…the possibilities seem endless.