Oh, y’all.

So, I bought this beehive for work. Well, work bought the beehive. For an educational tool. It’s pretty cool, I have posters with pictures and fun facts in the frames. Way more fascinating than the dumb Enviroscape.

So I wanted to paint the beehive because it came as unfinished yellow pine. I wanted to paint it traditional white and then paint cute little colorful flowers all over it, like a meadow. And I’ve made two trips to Hobby Lobby for cute little bumblebee adornments and paint. And also, today, I visited Lowe’s for the plain exterior white paint. Did you know they make you pay for the little opener tool? 68 cents! I didn’t get one, I figured I could open it with a screwdriver. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, and generally, I can gather the will.

After the hassle of getting our tax exemption number input to their system, I have returned to the office with my wares. I take the items back to the supply room where my beehive is stored. I’m not going to paint today because it’s too late in the day to start, it’s dreary and overcast and I’m not dressed for painting, nor do I have a bucket. I envision a sunny day, me out by the picnic table in a smock and beret, paintbrush between my teeth, Beetoven and Chopin on my Spotify, birds circling my head like the Disney princess I long to be. But in this moment, I’m just getting all this crap off my desk.

I move a box and set the bags on top of the beehive. I go to move another box (it’s the SUPPLY room, of course it’s packed to the gills) and the Lowe’s bag crashes to the floor, and the lid pops off the quart of white paint.

Guess that solves the how-am-I-gonna-get-it-open problem.

Now, most people’s luck would hold and the paint would be mostly contained in the plastic bag. But you’re in Amy Land now, and that’s not how things work here. It is pooling all over the floor next to the desk and under the chair.

I have no towels here. I have no paint remover/ thinner/scrapers/ miracles in the closet. I am on my own, as always.

So what do I do?

Decide not to waste paint, use the floor as my tray, and get to paintin’ the beehive ’cause it’s right THERE. I reach in the bag to grab the big paintbrush. Of course there’s paint on the inside of the bag, that’s where the initial mess began. I get the plastic off and I’m already a disaster. I go to slapping paint on. In other words, hurriedly. Then I realize the beehive is assembled, and I don’t want the paint to dry while it’s put together, because #1. I need to be able to get to the frames, and #2. It’s too heavy for me to lug very far as a single piece.

So I start trying to move the pieces around without touching where I’ve already put paint. I roll the chair out of the way.

Through the puddle.

I realize if this stuff dries, I’m really in a pickle, and decide to go ahead and clean up as best as I can, wasted paint be derned. I grab a roll of paper towels and rip into them. I start scooping paint by the wad into the trash can, which I laid on its side in the mess to prevent further drippage. Then I try to use the brush as a device for moving waves of paint. It’s just a catastrophe. And I keep getting my hair stuck….that’s right, on the newly painted lid of the beehive that’s sitting across the chair. And everytime I went to get it unstuck, I used my hand, which was already covered in paint…and well, you can just imagine what I look like now. There is paint still on the floor, even after I used a whole entire roll of paper towels, both wet and dry, paint on the desk, paint on the chair, paint on my hands, arms, shirt, knees, pants, and toes, in my hair, and, last but not least, the correct destination: the beehive. It’s about 20%.

I mean. The floor just looks kinda milky at this point. I did call Charlie, the landlord, and confess my sins. He laughed at me, and then shared two of his own spilled paint stories. Charlie is super nice, and said he was just afraid I was calling to say the air conditioner went out again. I told him I had definitely been sweating, but that was through no fault of the air unit.

I guess the silver lining here is that the paint is white, and I’m very white, so it’s hardly noticeable on my arms and feet.

All paint is body paint when you’re me, I reckon. Yeehaw, y’all.