You Dirty Girl

Spray paint is from heaven, simply put.  The defacement of thousands of walls is a small price to pay for the absolutely magical ability to take a decrepit piece-o-crap bookcase banged about since college (grimy white with the bottom four inches stained ew-ish when the basement flooded three years ago), and with two cans of "Satin Espresso" create a brand spank-me new darling cabinet that tucked into the 2nd floor bath next to the claw foot tub (which I also spray-painted) and VOILA!  Bath Divine.

Today was lovely.  80* and sunny, the autumn breeze sending golden leaves dancing through the air as I sprayed away in the backyard.  Unbeknownst to me, this playful draft was also sending clouds of Satin Espresso across my yard, surprising me with a "misty" paint job on the rear porch (whoops) and tomato plants that now look as if someone sneezed chocolate on them.  The dog wised up and bolted for the house.

Five hours later I had proudly arranged my bath, done three loads of laundry, vacuumed, watered plants and chopped veges for dinner.  The boys walked in from school and I shooed them quickly out the door--they had dentist appointments asap.  We dashed to the office where I sank gratefully onto the plush couch to relax with the latest edition of People for 45 minutes while teeth were polished and sealed.

Our dentist is.....rather posh.The eggplant colored walls of the waiting room were accented with a lush moss green that paired wonderfully with the leather furniture, electric fireplace and bookcases housing nifty statues and old volumes of Shakespear.  They don't just clean teeth folks, they look elegant while doing it. 

In the midst of this splendor, I suddenly realized the little girl waiting with her mother next to me was whispering.....and pointing at me.  I smiled, certain she just noticed my red hair or glasses.  Then her mother suppressed a look of confused horror and grabbing her daughter's hand, moved to the farthest seat possible from me.

WTH?

I start down the mental list:  deodorant this morning, check.  No "bra dysfunctions" baring all, check. (what, this never happens to you?)  No dog poo on the shoes, check.  And then I see it.  My arm....my ENTIRE right arm has been "cloud painted" a smashing Satin Espresso leaving the impression, if one didn't know otherwise, that not only was I dirty....I was downright filthy.  I'd had so much to do and yes, I'd washed my hands but I wasn't really paying attention, and I......oh no.

Fighting the blush I knew was raging across my face, I stumbled to the poshy restroom and stared at myself in the tasteful gilt-framed mirror.  The entire right half of my face was spotted brown.  Down my neck....even a lovely drip-o thing right at my jawline, implying that I was not only dirty, but sticky too. Was that a moth glued to my hair?

There is no handsoap on the planet that removes spray paint.  But oh, did I try.  Now I was blotchy and dirty.  Pulsating red, plague-like splotches covered my face, and a lovely welt had risen on my neck where I had attempted to scrape off the drip with my fingernail...dear God, I was a walking extra for Contagion. 

I slunk out to the waiting room and snatched a magazine to hold in front of my face.  A handsome man named "Brent" was greeted cheerfully by the receptionist before he came to find a seat.  The frantic manner in which he backed away from me, nearly landing in someone's lap, said it all.  It was a long 45 minutes.  I was a Dirty Girl and there was no denying it.