Ever Dealt with a Yellow-Tailed Boo Boo?
Well, you know how we have been keeping the house ultra clean for the realtor's showings?
It's nearly impossible, but I'm managing to stay on top of it pretty well.
That is until I kept finding a strange yellow film all over the place this morning.
I mean all over the place .
It's on the bathroom rugs.
It's on the door jams.
It's on the bedspread.
It's very hard to remove.
What the heck is this stuff?
Is it pee? No. Definitely not.
Is it pollen? Nah, too early for pollen.
Is it paint? Ah ha! Why yes, it appears to be
paint, but why and how??
It's almost the same color as the flowers from the dog in the garden portrait I'm working on.
Is it on me?
No. I'm clueless.
How.... did..... it....... ????
Stumped, standing in the hallway with my roll of paper towels,
enter stage left, frisky pup Brucie Boy.
Sitting at my feet, begging me to play, panting and wagging his tail furiously, as he always is.
"Hey Boo Boo, baby. Do you know what this stuff is?"
Brucie cocks his head...
He is also clueless as to how it got there.
Wag, wag, wag, wag,
pant, pant, pant, pant,
glimpse of yellow, glimpse of yellow, glimpse of YELLOW!?
Bruce's whole tail is saturated with deep golden yellow oil paint.
My detective powers kick in and I realize I leaned the dog painting up against the wall, on the floor of my studio, while working on the principal's portrait.
Brucie apparently wagged his tail all over my painting.
Oh, that's classic.
I kinda hate learning this type of life's lessons.
It's nearly impossible, but I'm managing to stay on top of it pretty well.
That is until I kept finding a strange yellow film all over the place this morning.
I mean all over the place .
It's on the bathroom rugs.
It's on the door jams.
It's on the bedspread.
It's very hard to remove.
What the heck is this stuff?
Is it pee? No. Definitely not.
Is it pollen? Nah, too early for pollen.
Is it paint? Ah ha! Why yes, it appears to be
paint, but why and how??
It's almost the same color as the flowers from the dog in the garden portrait I'm working on.
Is it on me?
No. I'm clueless.
How.... did..... it....... ????
Stumped, standing in the hallway with my roll of paper towels,
enter stage left, frisky pup Brucie Boy.
Sitting at my feet, begging me to play, panting and wagging his tail furiously, as he always is.
"Hey Boo Boo, baby. Do you know what this stuff is?"
Brucie cocks his head...
He is also clueless as to how it got there.
Wag, wag, wag, wag,
pant, pant, pant, pant,
glimpse of yellow, glimpse of yellow, glimpse of YELLOW!?
Bruce's whole tail is saturated with deep golden yellow oil paint.
My detective powers kick in and I realize I leaned the dog painting up against the wall, on the floor of my studio, while working on the principal's portrait.
Brucie apparently wagged his tail all over my painting.
Oh, that's classic.
I kinda hate learning this type of life's lessons.
posted by anessa arehart at 3/18/2005 01:15:00 PM
2 Comments:
From Seth:
Here is a story to make you feel better.
Christine was rear-ended at a stop light before Christmas. (Let me point out that this is not the part intended to make you feel better.) We drove the car home, nobody hurt. The next day I go out to pull the car out of the garage and into the driveway so the insurance clowns can come and take a look. I turn the key... nothing. Nada. Dead.
Well, to make a long story even less interesting, the trunk light was messed up in the crash, and drained the battery during the overnight hours.
OK. No big deal. I'll jump it with my Miata conveniently parked in the garage bay next to Christine's Corolla. The only problem is that the battery is in the trunk of the two-seated Miata, so to reach with the jumper cables I have to pull it out of the garage, turn it around, and then back in. Still no big deal.
I take the cover off (I don't drive it in the winter), and then move the items that naturally build up behind a vehicle that does not need to be moved for seven months. I move a secretary desk that Chris has been refinishing. I move the scraping devices and gooey green stuff that eats through everything except wood.
I hop into the drivers seat and turn the key. Starts right up. Sounds great. I sit for a few moments thinking of dropping the top for this 30 second jaunt. I begin to back out. What was that noise? Wasn't too loud, probably a broom handle. No reason to inconvcenience myself for two seconds and get out to look.
When I get pulled out, I look throught the windsheild to see what I ran over. I don't see anything. Huh. Oh well, I guess it was nothing. I proceed into the 46 point turn necessary to position myself for the backing in maneuver. In I go.
What was that noise? It sounds strangely familiar. I believe I heard that noise only a few seconds ago. I get out and look behind the car. I see, lying innocently on the ground, a handle. As I begin to move to the back of the car I see the handle is short. I discover that it is attached to a small, triangular blade used for scraping paint. Of course, being triangular, there is a wonderful, gleaming, very very pointy point pointing directly up at the sky. A few seconds earlier it was pointing up at my brand new rear tires, consecutively of course. I hit the right tire one the way out and the left tire on the way back in.
While I got down on my knees and prayed to a God that I absolutley don't believe in (probably why the SOB didn't help) to save my tires, alas, they are nearly flat by the time I jump-start Christine's car.
I guess it runs in the family.
Please say hello to everyone. Hope you and Mark have an unstressful selling and moving period.
Ha ha--- It MUST be hereditary!
Sounds like you got the same talents I did...
Lucky us....but it does make for good story telling, eh?
Thanks for sharing---
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