Posted by Toph on December 10, 2004, at 18:48:22
In reply to Love Remodeled, posted by Toph on December 8, 2004, at 14:47:04
Coat of Armor
Truth be told, we stole the house. It had been a casualty of a bitter divorce, neglected to the point that it became affordable for a young couple like us. Marie couldn't wait to start painting so to make it our own, and also to cover the residue of unhappiness the previous couple had left behind. It was important to us that each kid in our newly blended family have their own room as boundaries are important in this type of arrangement. Marie and I almost seemed to relish the tedious task of transforming the house into a home. I recall being precariously perched atop the ladder painting the high ceiling above the stairs. Marie held the pan so I could keep one hand safely on a rung as I loaded up the roller. "You sure are sloppy," she said to me playfully. I could feel the dampness on my back that must have come from too much paint applied to the ceiling. "It's not too late to marry a real painter," I retorted. I climbed down to check the damage to my old sweatshirt. Before the vanity I contorted and read backwards in the mirror, "DORK" painted on my back. Darting into the hallway I scooped up Marie like a doll and threw her squealing on to the bed. We tore off our clothes as if they were on fire…
In the next day's morning light, I laughed when I noticed our naked bodies tattooed with latex fingerprints. On the nightstand laid Marie's engagement ring she had carefully removed before painting. She would certainly have noticed even the smallest speck of paint as she could frequently be found admiring this new treasure adorning her finger.
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Ten years later, the kids are all off to college, so Marie insists that we paint again. She thinks this will somehow encapsulate all the screaming and crying that the walls have endured in recent years. The hallway now seems crowded for two painters. I juggle the pan and the roller trying not to break my neck as Marie impatiently slathers paint on to the door trim below my ladder. Then I feel a familiar wetness on my back. I clamber eagerly down the rungs arriving at the vanity. My reflection reveals a large spot of paint that has fallen from a carelessly overloaded roller. I call to Marie, "Honey, do you remember when…?" Irritated, she snaps, "You know, I have better things to do than paint tonight."
The next morning I dress and ritualistically lean over to kiss my wife on the forehead. She sleepily waves off my advance with her hand. I notice that the stone on her ring is nearly obscured by paint from last night's labor. Heading into the hall it becomes apparent that the walls are going to need a second coat.
poster:Toph
thread:426247
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20041210/msgs/427421.html