But I soldiered on, determined to get a lot of work done on that side porch. Towards the end of last fall, my enthusiasm for scraping paint and filling another thousand nail holes and cracks waned and I'd left the side porch completely unfinished. So today I scraped and painted the side porch (while silently cursing Cookie) and in between all that got three more windows painted. At which point I realized that I'd somehow miscounted windows and I still have seven windows to go. (2 on the east side + 3 on the front + 2 on the west side = 7) Oh well, what's another couple windows in the scheme of things?
Y'all remember I previously did battle with the mud-dawber nests on one wall. That left three walls still full of 'em. I thought I'd thoroughly gassed the mud-dawbers last week...but I thought wrong. Many of the nests which I had thought to be vacante were actually occupado. How do I know this? Because breaking apart those mud nests with a scraper revealed their yucky little larvae, all wrapped up in green leaves like teeny, nasty, little sushi rolls. Blech. (Damn Cookie anyhow. If he was here, this particular nastiness would be his job....) As if the disgusting wasp nests weren't enough to deal with, about midway through the afternoon I noticed my heel sticking to the sole of my rubber flip-flop. What the heck? I looked down to see my shoe covered in blood which was streaming down my leg. After rinsing off my leg with the garden hose, the extent of my injury became visible: a very small puncture wound about the size of, say, the head of a finishing nail. Must've missed one—with the hammer at least, if not with my leg. (And because I know someone will ask, yes, my tetanus shot is current.) Band-Aid and back to work.
As I was putting the second coat of paint on a very small section of side porch, my bestie Sharon called. "You and Cookie gettin a lot done today?" she asked. "Cookie who?" I growled. She sighed, "You have got to be kiddin me. Well...I'm mad at men today already, so after work I'll come over and we'll kick butt on that porch. We don't need no men to help us!"
Sharon, at least, is as good as her word. She painted the lower half of one end of the porch while I painted the upper half of the other end. Then we traded. My end of the porch was smaller, so I painted the porch ceiling blue while she finished up. Painting goes so much faster when you're grumbling to your best friend about the unreliability of men these days.
And tomorrow, more butt-kicking, although solo again. I'll put the second coat of paint on the side porch, paint the corner pieces over there green, and tackle the last of the front windows with those itty-bitty muntins. Photos to follow.