Spring Break got off to a raucous start this morning as I painted the bathroom. Well, kind of. I called Lynnette after I finished and gave her the good news. “How does it look?” she asked. “Uneven,” I said. “Send me a picture,” she said. I sent a picture. Shortly thereafter, I spoke to her. “It does look uneven,” she said. She also told me not to worry, as she would be home to fix it later in the afternoon. I assumed no less.
First of all, you’re damn right I’m sucking it in. Now that that’s out of the way, I really did try my best, but it became pretty clear as my first once-over started to dry that I had not done a professional job. I thought about going back in there to patch up my misses, but I figured “Why bother?”
I knew that Lynnette would come home and paint regardless of how many times I attempted to improve upon my own work. It doesn’t sadden in least to admit that Lynnette is simply better at these kinds of things than I am. She puts the stickers on Mad’s toys better than I do. What the hell, she’s better at anything involving fine motor skills. Mine are the hands of a thinker. Everyone has their gifts. Besides, I kill her in video games and witty banter.
I left a patch of white unpainted behind the bathroom door for Madison to paint. “Don’t paint without me, dad,” she said before she left for school. “Well, I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I’m going to paint most of it, but I’ll leave a spot for you, okay?” Her eyes widened and she gave me a “Yeah, yeah!” which is her stamp of approval usually reserved for such matters of importance like 808 Bounce of Chuck E. Cheese.
“I want the baby one!” she shouted when she spied the edge roller. Lynnette did her up with some paint and off she went. She tried her hardest to get globs of paint on it, but Lynnette wisely rationed the paint. To my pleasure (and chagrin, I suppose), Madison fulfilled her painting duties without getting paint on herself, which of course, puts her ahead of me. I am the third-best painted in the house, which isn’t last because I’m going to go ahead and count Abby. I will also go ahead and give myself a half-stamp to my Man Card, though I suspect Lynnette would quibble with even that.
But because every silver lining is merely a by-product of a large, ominous grey cloud, it was only a matter of time before it started to rain. And rain it did. Metaphorically, of course. Because if it literally rained, my softball game would have been cancelled, and maybe – probably – that would have been better.
If you aren’t one of the people who follow this blog, but tune out as soon as there’s a hint of sports, then you know I’ve been mired in a slump at the plate. Tonight was rock bottom. I hit two-hop come-backers to the pitcher in four consecutive at-bats. They weren’t hit hard. At all.
As the last of the four settled into the pitchers glove, I had taken two steps out of the box before coming to a stop, then slamming my bat down in disgust. Usually, such shows of emotion are Matty’s realm, but I was really upset. I can’t remember the last time I was so upset.
I take this game a lot less seriously, now, but it still stings my heart to play so poorly. It’s so bad that Matty decided to give me advice (Note: Please read this slowly, and in a low voice.)
You know what? Forget the mechanics already. Just try to square it up. Just swing at the ball. Screw it.
I don’t know if that advice will work, but the two Doritos Cool Ranch tacos he treated me to after the game sure hit the spot. At least something hit something.
NO PITY PARTIES! IT’S SPRING BREAK!