Well, it's the end of another week. I may be a little late in this assessment given that it's already Saturday, but there are a few of us die hards out there refusing to pack up work on a Friday afternoon. I had grand designs of spending my weekend up a ladder, painting the rest of my house, but alas I think I'm lazy.
Barely any speckles of paint marring my skin, two sides were painted - a mammoth effort from my husband and mother. My father (definitely not a painter), even managed to whip up some architraves and putty some posts.
So, since I've established that my contribution to said paint job was minimal, I raise the question; Is painting the absolute crappiest job on the planet?
Um ... yes.
The sun has since gone down on Saturday, and I find myself looking into my backyard and writing a mental list of all the other jobs requiring paint. The shed (recently blown away in cyclone Yasi), that's going to need a couple of coats after it's finished being built. The back of the house? Well, I have to finish it, don't I? And inside? Jeesh, don't even get me started. What was I thinking with that teal green colour in my living room?
So, I guess that means I'm painting until I die, destined to be picking white undercoat from under my fingernails every Saturday night. On the upside the house is looking great and my lazy butt avoided hand cramps and a hardcore loofa session. It even left me with a bit of spare time to blog and find you a painting related joke. Please do not send death threats if you hate it.
John was going around door to door looking for odd jobs to do. He went to this house where an old man lived and the old man said he had a chore for him to do. He said that he would pay John fifty dollars if he painted the porch in the back. John said okay and got straight to work. One hour and thirty minutes later, he came inside, telling the old man he was finished. The old man paid him, and as John was walking away he said, 'By the way, it's not a Porsche ... it's a Lincoln.' (jokesareawesome.com)