I used to pray for twin boys.
Oh, the fun they would have. . .
the mischief they would get into. . .
the great laughs they would share. . .
I have no feeling in my pointer finger. . .
One of the hazards of spray paint.
Forget the toxic fumes,
or the detrimental affects on the ozone.
No one ever mentions the dangers to the trigger finger.
I have dreams.
Dreams of a sparkling clean house. . .
Dreams of an organized garage that you can actually park a car in. . .
Dreams of a Kitchen Scale blue pick-up truck. . .
A crazy thing happened at my house the other day.
I have heard of this thing happening at other people’s houses. . .
I have seen it on movies. . .
But, I have never experienced it first hand.
All day long I have painted. . .
And, thought about Andy Griffith episodes.
I have chuckled to myself thinking about Barney writing tickets for jaywalking.
I am not sure who brought “distressed” furniture into vogue?
I AM sure who has kept it in vogue. . .
Every mother on the planet.
When I was a child, “distressed” was ruined.
It meant another project for my dad.