Over the past few weeks, I have been getting the house ready for Christmas.
You might think by this I’m talking about hanging mistletoe, trimming the tree and such, but no.
I’m referring to the tackling of the junk room and trying to locate the beds in the spare rooms which have been residing under a sea of clothes, suitcases, broken shelves and everything else you don’t want on the stovetop in the kitchen.
We moved into this house a year-and-a-half ago and only now am I determined to make every room acceptable for visitors. You know what I’m talking about – when you have people round and you basically put crime scene tape around some doors because if they enter them by mistake, they’ll be greeted with the ugly truth.
However, there are some eyesores that can’t be fixed without taking things up a level. In my case, it was the old refrigerator that we use for drinks. In its early life, it had been a brilliant, sparkly white, but over time it had acquired brown spots – kinda like the skin on my arms.
It worked perfectly well, it just looked tired and old.
Again, kinda like…
Determined to not replace it, I went into ‘Operation: Save Fridgy’ mode.
Of course, I consulted my Canadian friends Carol and Lynne (Canadians are known for being particularly canny about renovations), and sure enough, they had a possible answer: appliance paint.
With joy in my heart, I headed to ACE paint. The moment I walked in the door, I was greeted by two staff members.
“Appliance paint!” I announced with confidence.
The man seemed confused, but that could have been because he had correctly summed me up as someone who should never be handling such things; like giving a cat a hammer.
The woman knew a rube when she saw one and took me in hand.
“This will work,” she said.
I instantly reached for the wrong can and she redirected me.
My every move betrayed my lack of experience, and so she then led me to tape to protect things that weren’t to be painted, and a lot of plastic sheeting.
“You should do this outside,” she advised.
“Oh, it’s fine,” I chirped. “The room where the fridge is has plenty of ventilation.”
“Mmm-hmm,” she replied. “If you can get it outdoors, do.”
Armed with two cans of paint, two rolls of tape and three packs of plastic sheeting, I headed to the cash registers.
My last words to the cashiers were, “If I come back here covered in paint, you’ll know it all went wrong.”
Now, one of the many things you need to know about me is that I am a very impatient person. This is the same gal who tried to glue a dress together when she was a kid because sewing it was taking too long. And then she attempted to put it on before the glue dried.
So, last Saturday, with best friend and housemate Lynne out shopping, I decided I wanted to get painting immediately.
Did I empty the fridge first? No. Did I move it outside? Not really. I got it close to the outdoors but, in my defence, there was a lip on the floor that wouldn’t allow me to carry it over the threshold.
Should I wait for Lynne to get home? Absolutely not.
Surrounded by chickens on my back porch, I shook the can and started spraying.
In the beginning it looked like it was going terribly well. Holy cow! Was this all it took? No bath, sink or appliance in my house would be untouched. I would be back at ACE tomorrow to clear the shelves!
Well, of course, I spoke too soon. Full of ambition, I started going for the door handles. I made a rookie mistake – I over-sprayed. Suddenly, the paint began to run and head south.
It was then I realised I hadn’t put the plastic under the appliance. Eek!
I grabbed a roll and started frantically unravelling. It was a race against the drip!
I was going to make it – I bent down, got the plastic under the door of the fridge in the nick of time and… managed to stick a goodly portion of my hair right on the fresh paint. All that was missing now was Pepé Le Pew. I tried to wipe it out and then correct the mistake on the handle. My hair survived, save some specks of white, but the handle of the fridge was covered in bubbles.
Not being the kind of person who just gives up, I continued on my quest. Moving the appliance to get its sides was an interesting manoeuvre, as no matter how many times I tried to remember that I had just painted the front, my hands were drawn to it like mosquitoes to a tourist.
I wiped the mistake and repainted, accepting at this stage that I would have chalk-white palms for the festive season.
The spray can, sensing my enthusiasm waning, figured it would throw in some curveballs to keep it interesting. The consistently fine mist emanating from the nozzle suddenly became punctuated with bursts of volume, leaving splotches on the surface. I tried to correct it, but no matter what I did, the side of the fridge looked like it had caught a case of giant albino measles.
After an hour of this exercise, and getting heartily sick of the smell, I reckoned it was time to call it a day. It wasn’t a perfect job, but it would do. Besides, people were only in that room in low light anyway, and I could put a plant and couch next to the less professional side.
I had to push/pull the appliance back into place by its coolant pipes. I’m sure any tradesperson would wince at the idea, but my hands were already sporting three coats of Brilliant White Glossy, and that was enough.
It actually looks pretty good, now it’s properly dried, and even my Canadian buddies said it was a vast improvement. Sure, the handle feels like it was fashioned from sandpaper, but I’ll call that my ‘texturing’ approach.
Hopefully I’ll have moved out of that phase by the time I get to the toilet seats.
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