The Day I Stripped… Paint

Remember how last winter we were going to refinish the kitchen cupboards but watched Six Feet Under and ate desserts instead?

OK, we’re having a second go.

Today we decided to sand down the pantry doors, which are painted. They’ve been off the pantry for almost a year now. After several minutes of sanding that went nowhere we decided to buy paint stripper. This sounded to my uninitiated ears like it would be a simple and easy solution to the hassle of hours of sanding. I had this image of rubbing on a magical solution that would dissolve the paint and then we could put the new stuff on. I hopped off to the hardware store and ended up calling Hubby in the paint aisle.

“How much of this stuff should I buy?” I asked.

“That depends on the tragedy of it all,” he replied.

“Tragedy?”

“Yeah, whether we kill each other over the pantry doors or actually move on to the kitchen.”

While it may sound harsh to outside ears, this is actually a very generous comment. It has nothing to do with “us.” He means whether I throw a tantrum and refuse to do any more of it.

Hey, I was the one going “Condo, condo, condo” when we were home-hunting.

I bring home the paint stripper, apply it, realize its not mixed well enough, shake it, pour it, realize its not mixed well enough, shake it, pour it, let it sit for 20 minutes and then go to scrape off the “sludge,” realize I didn’t put near enough on, wait another 20 minutes. Hubby informs me we may have to do this 4 or 5 times. For each side. Of each of the two doors. And that’s only to get the paint off, not put the new stuff on. I remain silent.