I have always known that there is something a little off about my character. Anyone that knows me knows that also, and most of the time I can balance between sort of normal and downright ridiculous. Except for last night.
I have decided to paint the kitchen blue. Not a bright robin's egg blue, but a more of a steel-gray blue. If I were a romance novelist I would call it ' a deep, dangerous blue that reminded her her of the raging sea, tinged with a shade of gray that matched the steeliness of his character'. Or something. Anyhow, the kitchen is weirdly shaped with cupboards that begin a foot above the counters and end halfway up the wall, leaving a strange strip at the top between cupboard and ceiling. A strip that is, as I found out, very difficult to paint while balancing on a ladder and clinging to the side of the cabinets. So I did what any woman in my situation would do: poured myself a glass of wine and wait it out.
After moving all my StarWars toys out of the way so that I could get to the weird strip, I realized I hadn't had dinner yet. 9pm. Hmm. What to do. Oh, look, there's a bottle of wine! Need less to say, as the night progressed I grew more relaxed about my painting technique. But not completely...
I managed to wheel the fridge out of the way to paint and that's when it hit me. I am retarded. I could not leave behind the fridge unpainted even though no one would see it. Ever. I consoled myself with the knowledge that at least I would know it is done. Like washing out the garbage can. No one ever notices, they just carry on. Just like the area behind the fidge.
Don't even ask me about behind the stove. Just marvel at my ridiculousness.
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