Classic Bekah

My life is a never ending source of amusement. Moments that are classic Bekah happen...well...a little too frequently. But they make for great writing material.

So settle in, friends. I have a new one for you.

For the past...um....two months?...I've been intending to paint my front porch. I painted it a tasteful shade of red two summers ago, but two years of people walking on it, and two winters of shoveling made the boards begin to chip. It looked kind of tacky, so I knew it was time to paint it. If I didn't get to it, the realtor might have to address that with me. :)

First it was too rainy...then it was too hot...then I was too busy...so last Friday was the first chance I had to paint. I put on my grubby clothes and headed out front to work. I painted one side first...then the other...and left the center until the end so I could paint my way down onto the sidewalk. Not my first time painting, my friend.

I was working in the middle, so close to being done, when a car drove by very slowly, and a nasty old man (not trying to be mean...just trying to present the mental picture to you) yelled out the open window, "Hey Baby."

Seriously dude? This is your Friday night fun? Disgusting.

I worried he'd drive around the block and "Hey Baby" me again. I remembered the front door was locked, so I scurried around to the back of the house, came through the front, and unlocked the door, so I'd have a way to escape him, should he return. I finished my painting (just as I finished the paint in the can...how convenient!), stood back to survey my work, and said, "Rats. I just painted myself out of the house."

It's true. On my trip through the house to plan my escape route from Mr. Nasty, I had locked the back door behind me.

I so wish I had a video to show you of the next part. I went to the garage, got my mowing tennis shoes, put them on, hopscotched my way through the wet paint (there were a few parts I'd not painted over because they weren't chipped...so I tried to hit them) and smoothly (?) took off my shoes as I entered the house.

And I managed to NOT let Braeya out in the process.

In the end, the porch was painted, Mr. Nasty didn't come back, and I am sure I gave the neighborhood a great laugh with my hopscotch adventures.

Classic Bekah.