You might remember, though you can’t go back to confirm since Blogger conveniently never brought back my post in its entirety after it’s fit last week, I posted a mysterious picture of a radiator shrouded in old sheets and cardboard. A photo something like this one:
The photo wasn’t particularly mysterious, I know. I’m sure you all knew what I was doing. Because seriously? That radiator needed some help. And not just a little bit. Not just a good scrub. Not even a good sanding was enough. Consider, especially, the fact that the rad had been flipped in order to be installed in this particular location. And trust me: no one has hands small enough to paint the back of a radiator when it’s installed against a wall.
While the Husband played hockey, I put my paintin’ pants on and shook up a can of Ivory Rustoleum. Two minutes later I was running through the house opening every single window on the first floor, coughing the paint fumes out of my lungs. I had quickly learned the reason the can specifically insists on using the stuff in a well ventilated area. The bathroom fan did not equal ventilation.
I know, I know. I should have had a mask. Some of you, my more cautious readers, would insist I should have a respirator. Give me a break — I’m completely new to spray painting! Instead of giving up and rushing out to buy some kind of lung protection, I fell into a pattern of gulping air, ducking into the bathroom, spraying, breathing shallowly, leaning out of the bathroom, gulping air, repeat. The task that was supposed to take me 20 minutes turned into an hour. And then I ran out of spray paint.
I finished up Saturday morning and finally took down the drop clothes. The difference is astounding.
Crisp, clean, white.
(No, the speckles along the wall are not spray paint on our brand new tile. Just drywall dust left behind by the Husband’s sanding.)
A vast improvement, though I’m the first to admit that anything would have been an improvement. Finally, time to get some paint on the walls!