How Hard Could This Be?

After the 335th time my husband and I heard someone yell, "Give me back my mascara," we decided to move my older daughter into the spare bedroom as it has its own bathroom. So, we moved her last weekend and when we moved the large massive, ugly bed that formerly belonged to my husband's mother (doesn't everyone love hand-me-downs), we discovered that the one eyed, one armed pirate-like guy who painted our house a few years ago (I am not kidding you), well...he decided to not move the monster bed. He just painted around the headboard. And he got away with it, cause we paid him without knowing this. So, of course, we had to paint the wall now, unless she wanted to have a weird two colored wall. My husband had already hung the curtains first thing in the morning . Of course, when he hung the curtains, I mean he got out this laser thing that makes a line on the wall, and about 14 other tools and took two hours to do so. I am talking one window here. Then, as always, he went to play golf. So, I decided my daughter and I could to paint the wall ourselves, with the theory that if a one armed, one eyed guy could do it, how hard could it be? So, my daughter and I went down to the local Sherwin Williams. I knew we were in trouble even as we walked in the store when the guy behind the counter looked at the gal behind the counter and I could tell he had lost the coin toss and had to wait on us. That stuff they say about being friendly and willing to help, well...not so much. He acted like I was the stupidest person on earth when I asked him questions, like, "What is the difference in these two rollers?" He actually said, "Two dollars." I wanted to ask him if he had smelled too much paint, but I was afraid he might charge me even more. So, my daughter picked a color and I paid Mr. Friendly a ton of money and then went home. I am the exact opposite of my husband on home improvement projects. I like to just go with the flow, not spend a lot of time with preparation. So, we start to paint. It is going well until we get to the "trim." This is really not a "go with the flow" type part of the project, but I did. Staying in the lines would have been helpful, but that did not work out, really. And to top of the whole experience, my younger daughter, who is much like the opposition party in Congress, nipping at the heels from the sidelines without really able to accomplish much, she came in, looked at the wall, and declared the color to be the same as Baby Poop, and she had a point. So, of course, I had to pull an Obama, and make the best of it, ignoring the paint outside the lines, ignoring the color and say, "It looks great." What did I learn from this experiment? Always let my husband do the home improvement projects!