Okay, so this story is far more entertaining this morning than it was yesterday. And it's definitely more hilarious for people who were NOT involved in the situation. Yesterday I stopped by my house in Provo to grab the mail and be on my merry little way. Well, there was a strange vehicle parked in my driveway - okay, so it was my Dad's truck, but that's not very dramatic. Anyway, I went inside and found him getting ready to texture my walls. Feeling a sense of obligation to help him work on MY house, I started taping up windows and getting ready to help him. We successfully textured the non-peanut butter walls of the kitchen and he moved into the family room. After running out of sheetrock mud in his cool little sprayer thing, I helped him refill it. He seemed to be doing okay by himself so I told him I was leaving so I wouldn't get dirty because I was going straight to Family Home Evening. He said 'well, you shouldn't get too dirty since we're just texturing the walls.' So, he went back to texturing the family room and I stayed in the kitchen to avoid getting dirty. Ha Ha...famous last words.
There is a doorway between the kitchen and the family room. My Dad came to the edge of that doorway. His last sweep over the wall - half of the mud went down the wall, half of the mud went down me. Head to toe! So, naturally I backed away from the onslaught of sheetrock mud. Unfortunately, I backed away right into the wall behind me - which my Dad had already textured. There was a nice butt print of mine on the wall behind me and everything on the back of me was covered in sheetrock mud and the front of me looked like the mud bucket violently exploded on me - I had sheetrock in my hair, on my glasses, up my nose, all over my brand new shirt, on my jeans and it even made it to my shoes. Needless to say, I told my Dad I was officially finished helping him and I left him laughing hysterically in my kitchen.
I had just enough time to wash and dry my clothes before F.H.E. Well, I thought they were dry anyway. Until I pulled on my pants. Yeah, not dry. Not dry at all! Hopefully no one at Family Home Evening thought I wet my pants - but I didn't ask.
There is a doorway between the kitchen and the family room. My Dad came to the edge of that doorway. His last sweep over the wall - half of the mud went down the wall, half of the mud went down me. Head to toe! So, naturally I backed away from the onslaught of sheetrock mud. Unfortunately, I backed away right into the wall behind me - which my Dad had already textured. There was a nice butt print of mine on the wall behind me and everything on the back of me was covered in sheetrock mud and the front of me looked like the mud bucket violently exploded on me - I had sheetrock in my hair, on my glasses, up my nose, all over my brand new shirt, on my jeans and it even made it to my shoes. Needless to say, I told my Dad I was officially finished helping him and I left him laughing hysterically in my kitchen.
I had just enough time to wash and dry my clothes before F.H.E. Well, I thought they were dry anyway. Until I pulled on my pants. Yeah, not dry. Not dry at all! Hopefully no one at Family Home Evening thought I wet my pants - but I didn't ask.
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