If you've been following this saga, you know that a few months ago, I bought some chairs at an estate sale. You can read about our first two rounds with said chairs here and here.
This was round three.
95. Beg your extremely handy husband for help. Admit he was right: that you had no idea how much work this project would be and SOS PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME.
96. Pick a day that is really, really hot. You'll want to make this experience as unpleasant as possible.
97. Invent an excuse like, "Just let me clean up the kitchen and I'll be right out!" while your husband gets started on the real work.
98. Look at the window and feel pangs of guilt as you watch him measure the drop cloth seat back cover and cut the batting.
99. Try and decide whether you feel guilty enough to actually go outside.
100. You do. Go outside. Admire his work.
101. Listen as he gives you your instructions for cutting the rest of the drop cloth seat backs and cushion covers.
101. Ask him if he's sure he wants you to cut the pelts - wouldn't he be better at it?
102. Sigh as he confirms that you are definitely cutting the pelts, and would you please stop calling them "pelts" because a pelt is animal skin?
103. Ignore him and get started on pelt number one.
104. Grab what are, somehow, despite having taught school and bought your own school supplies, THE ONLY SCISSORS IN THE HOUSE.
105. Make sure these scissors are nice and dull. You definitely don't want to make this easy on yourself. They should be about as sharp as one of your back molars.
106. Measure out how big your pelts should be. Consider using the old seat cover as a template.
107. Remember that time you found a single dried Band-Aid next to a single dried Golden Graham stuck to these chairs and decide to wing it in order to avoid touching that nasty thing.
Hard pass.
108. Rip and tear at the drop cloth with your molar scissors.
109. ...for what seems like A FREAKIN' LIFETIME.
110. Look over to discover that your husband has successfully covered a seat back. Get invigorated at this progress.
111. Go help him by staple gunning the drop cloth to the chair.
112. Only get a little mad at him when he pretends that you've stapled his finger to the chair, which you totally should have seen coming, but still - the man is a dentist, losing a finger isn't that funny JORDAN.
113. Go back to your place on the chain gang: molar scissors.
114. To confirm your measurements, place the old seat bottom on top of your newly cut seat cover. Admire your work, but know that your husband would've cut everything perfectly straight and your work is inferior.
115. Temporarily stop progress because of a dog who apparently isn't getting enough attention right now.
116. Obviously pet your dog because come on lookatthatface.
117. Then, keep cutting. The cutting. The cutting never ends.
118. Since there aren't any fun articles to read (on broccoli rabe or anything else), assess the current construction situation on your street with disdain.
Just to clarify, that's one next door and one across the street. Are you jealous?
119. To entertain yourself while cutting, imagine ways that you could drive this construction crew away.
120. Decide that the best way to get rid of them is to somehow convince them that this neighborhood is haunted.
121. Delight yourself with fantasies of moving their tools around and blaming on a ghost.
122. Imagine you and your dog both going over, covered in white sheets, and just standing in a corner until somebody notices you and either calls the police or runs screaming from the structure.
123. Decide maybe none of that is as good an idea as you think it is.
124. Complete the pelt project. Finally.
125. Stop for the day because it's about to rain.
126. After church the next day, stop by Lowe's.
127. Beg your husband to get some ice cream with you because the social media gods have declared it National Ice Cream Day.
128. Bother him until he good-naturedly relents because he, too, loves ice cream.
129. Pull up to Chick-Fil-A for some of that sweet soft serve AND REMEMBER THEY'RE CLOSED BECAUSE #SUNDAY KILL ME.
130. Gather your strength and go without.
131. Arrive back home, where it's time to paint these suckers.
132. As usual, find something inside to busy yourself while your husband is being an angel and working hard.
133. Once you go outside, realize you have unwittingly taken the worst job by handing your husband the painting job.
134. While your husband is painting, you have to go through the other two chairs with the dental explorer and get all the grime and grout and dust and disgustingness out of there before they're painted.
135. Consider flinging yourself from the roof.
136. Decide to just get on with it.
137. Discover that you actually really like this job.
138. Wonder if it makes you a sick person that you relish in removing imperfections.
139. Wonder if maybe you should've been a dermatologist or a dental hygienist.
140. Resolve that it's not too late, but also remember that there's a lot of math and science involved in those jobs.
141. Remember that time you got an 8 on an AP Chemistry test.
142. Reconsider the whole "medical career" thing.
143. Turn your attention to the foam padding for the seats.
144. Discover that the seat bottoms are not, in fact, squares - so your husband will have to Frankenstein them together.
145. After all that, they still have about an inch and a half of wood hanging off the back, so watch your husband use upholstery glue to made a piece that fits.
146. Think to yourself that after all this work, if anyone comes to your house and spills spaghetti sauce on the chairs, that you will probably actually murder them.
147. Briefly consider not ever inviting anyone to your house again.
147. Add another coat of paint to the two chairs your husband painted, then add two coats to the remaining two (which have now been scraped of imperfections).
148. Cover one seat entirely.
149. Stand back and admire your work. After a coat of varnish and the nailheads, these things will be just about done.
150. As you're cleaning up, notice that the text you sent your husband (about how he sent you an old copy of the grocery list and that there's a newer one on the legal pad and could he please take a picture of that one) is sitting, dormant, on his phone. Realize this is why you had to wing it, and also why a box of chocolate covered pretzels ended up in the buggee. Whoops! You didn't have a list, it's not your fault. Decide to forgive him since he's basically done this entire project for you. Go cook him a big meal in appreciation.
