You Paint My Fingers And You Paint My Toes

I feel I should clarify something before I continue with my story. I didn't paint my parents' living room because I'm a good person. I painted it out of spite. I painted it because I thought it would make my mom would feel like an asshole for leaving me at the airport when I am such a good daughter (a daughter who paints her living room!) There were no good thoughts while doing this good deed. There was a lot of bitter words and swearing. I don't want to misrepresent myself.

Right. So on with the story.

The first coat of paint looked horrible not because of the colour we chose - the colour choice was great - but because the bloody turquoise was showing through. It was to be expected; we didn't expect a light, buttery yellow to cover up the atrocity that was the turquoise walls.

turquoise!

My parents were due to pick up their dog from the kennel at 5pm on Saturday, meaning we had until 6pm Saturday to get the second coat on the walls. No problem, right?

Except that my parents came home a day early. Which meant that instead of walking into a house with a newly painted living room, my mom walked into this:

A giant fucking mess. The kitchen looked like this too. The den was packed with coffee tables and stacks of books. The reading room was overflowing with picture frames and plants. (Two things: 1 - yes, my parents have a "reading room" and yes, it makes my head melt a little. 2 - my parents have had those brown, corduroy couches for as long as I've been alive. They will probably never get rid of those couches.)

Remember the part where I said that my dad knew we were doing this? He didn't call ahead to warn us that they were headed home. Turtle and I took Friday off because we wanted a break from painting. Had we known my parents were coming home a day early, we would have powered on to try to finish as much as possible. We would have at least cleaned up the garbage and mess we left lying around the house.

So Saturday morning I head out to my parents' house with Turtle and her boyfriend to do the second coat of paint. Turtle had spoken to my mom earlier in the day and learned that my mom didn't like the colour we chose, so we knew we were walking into an awkward situation. We were completely unprepared for how spectacularly horrific it ended up being, though. My mom was as angry as I've ever seen her. I can't get into detail here because I don't want to record it; I don't want my angry reaction to come back and haunt my future self. I will say that it was frustrating to be locked in the bathroom, crying the ugly cry to the point where I had a nosebleed and the hiccups. It was my teenage years all over again.

My mom left and we decided to go ahead and do the second coat. We felt like doing the second coat would finish the room and we could put the furniture back in and make the room functional again. So that's what we did.

The room looks good. The second coat completely covered the turquoise and now the room is a beautiful, creamy yellow. We put everything back into the room and tidied the mess we had made. As we were finishing, my mom came home all sunny and happy and offered to make sandwiches for everyone. Pretending that everything is okay is what my family does. I am really not okay, though. I can't believe how far and how quickly the situation escalated.

I can understand my mom not liking the surprise. In hindsight, I can see how it could be construed as us being presumptuous to paint her living room. I can accept her not liking the colour we chose. I can't accept her reaction, though. She was hurtful and rude and just ... mean. She was mean to us and said horrible things and I don't know how to react. She sent half-assed apology emails to me and Turtle today but it was kind of a back-handed apology. Very "I'm sorry that you're upset" as opposed to "I'm sorry that I upset you."

So. A bit of family drama, just in time for months of family celebrations (September = Turtle's and Bow's birthdays, October = my birthday, November = my mom's birthday, December = Christmas, January = my Gram's birthday, February = my dad's and Westy's birthdays. That's a whole lot of awkward family dinners to suffer through, if this isn't resolved.)