The Time Where I Spilled Paint On My Head...

Remember how I was painting my bedroom? You know, the very quick project that I started 2 months ago?

*crickets*

Wellllllllllllll, I'm finally finished! And by finished, I mean the painting is finished. The cleaning up part? Notsomuch.

(yes, yes, there will be pictures)

And I didn't finish without a disaster. And by disaster I mean spilling paint on my head. Fun times.

Here's how it went down. Josh and I had a fight slight disagreement last night. It's rare in the Lynch household, but it does happen occasionally. While I was pouting folding some laundry, Josh had been finishing up the last coat of paint. I saw him pick up the roller, and so I assumed that he was finished with the ladder, which I needed. I grabbed the ladder, and (imagine this next part in slow motion) the large container of paint that was sitting on the top of the ladder fell. And by fell, I mean it practically exploded and coated my hair, my face, my entire body, my feet and flip flops, the hardwood floor, the ladder, the bathroom tile, and the legs of my new bed and nightstand. I couldn't make this up people.

Remember that I am already mad, so I do *not* find this even remotely funny. I strip off my clothes and shoes, and wipe what is running off of my face/hair/feet/body, then proceed to spend the next half hour cleaning up the spilled paint naked and muttering very nasty things about the person whose name starts with J that left a container of paint on top of the ladder. Because seriously, who looks at the top of a ladder?! (HELLO I'm fivefootONE)

That was followed by the longest shower in history, where I spent, at minimum, a half an hour scrubbing till I was bright red and the paint was mostly off.

Fast forward two hours. We're in the bedroom, Josh asks me if I can see the mark on the wall, I say that I don't see anything, and he says, "It's probably from all of the paint in your eyes", and we both started laughing. Just like that, our fight was done.