Here’s the thing. I’m allergic to this stuff. So much so, that it triggers asthma attacks even if I’m painting in a well ventilated area. In theory, I shouldn’t walk into a paint store, much less pry a can open with the first screwdriver I can lay my hands on.

In practice, you know I opened the can right after I played Alice. One white pill to stop the itching, one red pill to open my lungs. Inhaler in my pocket, we’re ready to go. Yes, yes, I do this to myself. What’s your point?

However, I didn’t do this to myself this time. No, IZ decided that our 15 year old bed needed to be replaced because he was tired of being mocked every night. Part of the casing on our air bed is cracked—gloriously on HIS side of the bed. Every night he comes to bed and it lets out this pitiful wail, I can’t help myself, I burst into the giggles.

We could have just bought another bed the same size, but that would be too easy. Besides, IZ has been itching for a King sized bed since the last time (15 years ago) we bought a bed; he saw the brass ring circling his direction and he rigged a plan to snatch it this time. I’m not exactly complaining, however, a larger bed means new bedding. New bedding means the bedroom should finally be painted. Two years of sleeping in a half-painted room is my limit. If he gets a new bed, I get a new paint job. We struck a deal. What a bargain, right?

The one thing I forgot to factor into this “bargain” was what to do about the headboard situation. For the record, our present headboard is a thrifted number: a size too small, nasty green vinyl upholstered thing that I slipped covered and centered on the wall. Voilà, headboard. What? It works. Kinda. But now that it’s two sizes too small for the bed, something has to be done. Which is how, the very long way around, I found myself on the porch prying open a can of paint tempting fate armed with an inhaler! While IZ worked on prepping the room, I hauled my project outside and began attacking a set of vintage wicker headboards with some kind of blue paint. Apothecary blue, I think they call it.

You should know that wicker is a beast to paint. And if you decide to paint wicker, don’t use a good brush. Anyhow, our solution is another thrift store find: two twin sized vintage wicker headboards that will magically become a king sized headboard. You know, if I ever get done painting them. It’s just that sitting on the floor of the porch painting on my knees is not something I do with any grace. My poor joints whined through my entire workout this morning. Snap, crackle, inhale. I’m my own cereal box.

Once again, I’ve managed to write an entire post about absolutely nothing. And if you’ve read this far, you’ve just read an entire post about absolutely nothing! This blog is starting to read a bit like a poorly written version of Seinfeld. I guess that would make me George. Who does that make you?