Say What?

So I am, as my Granny used to say, knee deep to a tall Indian around here these days. I am in the midst of painting my dining-room-that's-no-longer-a-dining-room. It required me to move out the furniture, tape off all the trim, and prime the spots we patched and the very dark brown paint under the chair rail. Seriously, if there is a color sucking palette, the dark brown/yellowy beige that's going on in that room is it. Blergh. (Why yes, I am spending my Valentine's day painting. It's how I show my beloved, who is out of town for the week, that I love him. "Look dear! I did all this painting while you were gone because I love you" {said in my best Dug from "Up" voice} What? Don't you celebrate the international day of love with paint and primer? Well you should. It's way better than chocolate. Or something.)

Anyway! (Digression. It's what's for dinner.) (Or something.) (Parentheticals are my bestest friend.)

I wound up at the paint counter at Lowe's last night to get the paint I needed. After I told the gentleman behind the counter what I needed, I headed off to get the other supplies required for the job and then looked in vain for the ever elusive "looking glass" spray paint. (I swear this paint is my Bigfoot. Other people have found it and used it, so it must exist, but I sure can't find it. Someone point me in the right direction, please.) Then I headed back to the counter to see if my paint was done.

As I strolled up to the counter, the paint man muttered something and dropped a paint can lid.

"I'll be right with you," he said. "The nozzles on this machine got clogged and sprayed yellow paint everywhere and then I dropped this lid. Let me just clean this up right quick."

"No problem," I chirped. (Yes. I was chirping. It was my first time out of the house without a kid all day as Mary had been home sick. Pity me. I was at a home improvement store, and God help me, I was ecstatic!)

I waited, watching him clean up the mess. He did a quick clean up of the big splotches and then stepped up to the counter.

"How may I help you?" he asked.

"Um. You already did. I just need my paint,"

"Right. That paint spill got me flustered. Your paint is ready. Let me just clean off my hands. I want to have clean hands when I touch your can."

He stopped, winced, and apologized. "That didn't come out right. Sorry about that."

I was too busy laughing to answer.

And that? That little exchange is one of the reasons I blog.

Now excuse me, but I've got a gallon of Pebble Gray calling my name.