HOW TO RUIN A PERFECTLY GOOD WEEKEND

If you're planning a perfect weekend of doing absolutely nothing besides picking your nose and watching Food Network like your life depended on it, here's one sentence that will completely and utterly turn that weekend onto its ear.

"Honey, I believe this room could use some paint."

I don't even know WHY I said it.

The room didn't need any paint. It was painted just fine.

There was nothing especially revolting about the room. It was a harmless, off-white color.

In fact, I'm pretty sure that what I meant to say was "Honey I sure would like to fuck that one girl you work with."

But nooooo ... out comes the paint thing.

And before I knew just what the hell was going on, I was standing in the paint aisle with my wife gleefully looking at little cards with different paint colors as she said "How about this? How about this? What do you think about this? How about this?"

As the husband in this relationship, it is my duty to say "No. No. Okay. No. Great. No. I like that. No."

And put that on "repeat" so that it comes out at a steady pace until she chooses the color she likes and one that I don't care a rat's testicle about.

She finally decided on a color called "algae".

It's the color of algae in the ocean. A light green.

Then while the guy's mixing the paint up,we go up and down the aisles as she's tossing drop cloths and paint rollers and paint pan liners and rags and every single goddamned thing this sheet entitled "Painting a Room?" suggests.

We get home and I finally get the chance to admit that I had led an especially tiring week and since I had a rare Saturday off from DJing, I wanted to relax before tackling the room (which, if you read the last entry ... we're painting Andrew's new bedroom, the former playroom).

"I just want to re...." I said.

"LET'S GET STARTED!" she crowed.

Y'see ... my wife watches an unusual and potentially deadly amount of HGTV.

She has spent weekends watching people paint on TV and laid there on the couch surrounded by pillows and chocolate and said "Someday ...SOMEDAY I will get to paint a room and it will be as much fun as it looks when these people do it."

This was her big day.

This was like a paint prom.

She could not fucking WAIT to start painting.

So we get in there, clear out every toy this kid owns, tape drop cloths to the base boards, mix the paint and are ready to start.

One problem.

And he's six and a half years old.

"I wanna paint too!" says Andrew.

"You're too young," I say. "Just watch me and Mom."

"Ohhhhh you're NEVER TOO YOUNG TO PAINT!" Susie belts out like Ethel Merman on a sugar high as she hands him a paint roller. "Just BE CAREFUL."

Yeah.

In Andrew's world "being careful" means you can do anything just shy of killing yourself.

So he's got a paint roller in his hand and it's dripping paint everywhere (I think parts of Tennessee saw paint in the air when the wind picked up).

He's decided he wants to paint "pictures" on the wall rather than paint it a subtle algae color.

So it's "lookdaddylookdaddylookdaddylook ... I painted a giraffe."

And I'm staring at a glob of paint on the wall four feet in diameter that looks nothing like a giraffe.

I mean ... it could have been a giraffe that had stumbled out of an airplane accidentally and hit the ground going 400 mph.

A green giraffe, that is.

But it looked nothing like a giraffe.

Still ... Dear Abby says that if you call your kids "fucking losers that couldn't paint a giraffe on their best day" than the kid will grow up to be a serial killer with poor dental hygiene.

So I'm forced to stand there and go "Yes! A giraffe! I see it! Great job, Andrew!"

I look at Susie and mouth the words "We. Have. To. Get. Him. Out. Of. Here."

She scoffs at my suggestions and says "He's having fun! I'm having fun! We're ALL HAVING FUN! WHOOOOOHOOOOOO!! IT'S A FUN SATURDAY!!!!"

Have I mentioned my wife is taking shitloads of some new pills that she calls her "happy" pills?

No??

I probably should have mentioned that.

Anyway, 90 minutes later the walls are painted.

And ... in small portions ... the ceiling is painted.

The baseboards are now a combination of algae and eggshell white.

Susie's on the step ladder, brushing hair out of her face with the back of her forearm.

"I think it needs a second coat," she says proudly.

"I think it can wait," I said as I trudged out of the room, my back, hands, legs and feet more sore than a penis that had wandered near Paris Hilton's diseased vagina.

We made a pact to get up early Sunday morning and finish the job.

Aaaaaaand let Andrew sleep in.

So at 5:30 a.m. Sunday, we got up and finished the second coat in silence.

And I have to honestly say ... as much as I hated spending my "lazy weekend" alternating between standing and stretching and sitting Indian style and cramping, the room looks really good with the new bunk beds and furniture in there.

Dare I say ... I'm proud of it??

BEFORE

AFTER

NEW BED (unmade)