Posted by Toph on December 8, 2004, at 14:47:04
Love Remodeled
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 the likes of 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 - 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, "I'm a 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 morning light the next day I laughed when I noticed that throughout or passionate tussle we had tattooed each other all over our naked bodies with latex fingerprints. On the nightstand I could see the engagement ring she had carefully removed to paint. Marie would certainly have noticed even a microdot of paint as she was endlessly admiring her new ring on her finger.
Fast-forward ten years. 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. The hallway now seems crowded for two painters. I juggle the pan and the roller trying not to break my neck in full view of Marie who slathers paint on to the door trim. Then I feel a familiar wetness on my back. Excited I clamber down the rungs arriving at the vanity. The reflection reveals a large paint spot 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 spend an evening painting."
The next morning I dress and ritualistically lean over to kiss Marie on the forehead. She sleepily waves off my advance with her hand. I notice that the stone on her ring is almost obscured by paint from last night's effort. Heading out the door I lament that the fresh smell of paint no longer smells that good to me.
poster:Toph
thread:426247
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20040925/msgs/426247.html