Not sure how else to say this… but we accidentally got high on paint fumes last night. [Insert side-splitting laughs here.] No, seriously. We really did. And it was a disaster.
As I mentioned in my last post, this week’s kitchen remodel agenda consisted of repairing a few patches of dry wall and then painting. Easy enough, right? I mean, in the grand scheme of things I would undoubtedly say that painting walls is an easier task than laying a floor or grouting tile. Hahaha, so one would think.
To give you a little background on my experience in painting, I’ll tell you that I have none. Growing up as a military brat, we moved around a lot. Which prompted my parents to rent houses wherever we went, fearful that an air base would shut down shortly after settling down. So we never painted the walls in a rental.
And to further demonstrate my inexperience in the painting department, when we went to Lowe’s on Tuesday to pick up all our paint supplies, I was surprised to find out that not every shade you see in the swatch display is actually sold off the shelf. So as I was examining nearly every paint bucket in aisle 24, trying to find Dawn’s Early Light by Olympic Paint, Mikey came to the rescue and informed me that you have to buy the base, and then the Lowe’s folks go to the back room to mix the color in. (Ohhhhhh, I get it now.)
Once Wednesday evening rolled around, it was prime time. We cleaned the walls, taped up edges and outlets, laid drop cloths and popped the lid off the primer.
And that’s when the paint fumes got their waft on. The scent was strong. And 20 minutes into painting, it was getting stronger. And stronger. And stronger. I was starting to get light-headed, but thought eh, I’m under five feet tall and considered a lightweight. Maybe I’m just feeling the effects because of my short stature.
But then, Mikey started to feel it too. And we started laughing a lot. Over conversations like:
Me: Have you ever painted anything before?
Mikey: Yessss. The Sistine Chapel!
Then came the clean-up. I nearly had a panic attack when I tried to clean the paint brushes in the bath tub. As I went to squeeze the primer out of the roller brush, the white stuff started to mold to my hand. Scrubbing wasn’t helping. Water wasn’t helping. Heart was racing! And I literally thought I was going to have to walk into work with a white hand in the morning. It was reminiscent of Michael Jackson’s sparkling right hand glove. Except that it wasn’t sparkly. Fortunately, the Sistine-Chapel-Painter, Mikey-angelo, himself was there to interrupt me in my stoned state of mind and told me to use a bar of soap. After 15 minutes of soap scrubbing on the verge of hysteria, it worked. Praise God, my hand is tan again.
So what the heck went wrong? This doesn’t normally happen when people paint… does it? No, it can’t.
This morning, when I shared our high as kites story with my coworkers, I learned that the powerful fumes were a result of us using oil-based primer. Which we didn’t realize we had bought. And now that my coworkers have helped me piece together the night from stoner hell, it’s all starting to make sense. For instance, the brand of paint primer we bought was called KILZ. I now realize that means KILZ as in, KILZ brain cells.
But that’s life when you’re first time kitchen remodelers. You live. You love. And sometimes, you lose some brain cells.
Oh, and in case you were concerned, no Bears were harmed in the painting of this kitchen. Although I bet he was wondering what on earth was wrong with us.