Touche' spray paint... Touche'

I have a tale to tell.  Not a fairy tale, because those usually involve cute talking animals. No.  This is a cautionary report about being smarter than the furniture you are repurposing. 

The last few weeks have been very active in the Posh household.  I added a “posh corner” to our current booth, and I’ve actually sold a few things. My friend, we will call her “Paula” because that’s her name.  Paula says it classed up the joint.  I don’t know about classing anything up, but I can tell you that I may have moved up to Master Level in putting a lot of stuff in a small space.  It’s like real-life Tetris.

I’ve opened an Etsy store and managed to place items on it for sale without sobbing, throwing the laptop or hiring my teenager to do it for me.  I have yet to see any sales, but I’m working on being patient.  So someone go buy something, like NOW.  (I said I was working on it).

I’ve been to flea markets, yard sales, I ordered business cards and even bought a storage unit at an auction.  However, none of those experiences prepared me for last week. 

It’s rather humid in Poshfield these days, so on one of the cooler evenings last week, I decided to do a little Posh work in the garage.  This involved spray paint. Lots and lots of spray paint.  Now.  Before you get all “omg you vented the garage, right”, I’m not stupid.  Ok, not lick the frozen flag pole stupid - I did open both garage doors, had two fans going, and had my little blue mask, gloves and eye gear on.

However (and here’s where the cautionary part comes in), I underestimated the evil, malicious, sneaky, soul consuming fumes that are spray paint.  In retrospect, the London-like, pea soupy fog should have been a warning sign.  And when daughter number two came out and said “MOTHER!!!!” should have triggered a flag. But the big reveal was when I removed the mask to find red paint specks in its lining…. the inside lining….I should have known it wasn’t gonna be good. 

After an entire night of coughing and wheezing, I awoke to the worst, skull-splitting, eye-ball popping, oh- I- think- I- see –THE- light – and- I’m – cool – with - that headaches ever.  I was miserable. 

I did recover, and will live to spray paint again.  But I learned a valuable lesson.  Paint fumes cannot be trusted.  Neither can the little blue masks from Wal-Mart.  And fog is never good. I mean…. Have you ever seen a movie where something GOOD comes out of the fog?

So the lesson here is to never over-estimate your protective gear.  I myself have purchased a new stuff.  So if you drop by my house, and I’m painting, you may see this….

I’ve put it in pictorial timeline for your viewing pleasure.  I’m nice that way.

Here's a rendition of me.  Happy to work on Posh:

Then, a darkness fell:

Nothing good comes from fog.  EVER!

Artist rendering  of me, after a few paint fumed hours:

But, fear not.... lesson learned:

Fin

So there you have it folks.  Learn from my mistakes.  Or at least be smart enough not to put them on your blog.