I’m pretty sure someday these are going to be my last words. . .My Husband isn’t going to be able to restrain himself any longer. . .
I have bad habits. We all do. But by far my worst and likely most frustrating habit is the inability to complete about 60% of any projects I start.
My area of the basement is a testament to my inability to see things to completion. I’m not sure what happens dinner needs cooking, there are turds on the floor, or I nearly cut off a finger but somethings just do not get completed. . .ever.
I am by nature a huge procrastinator. And I really really do like making things and doing projects myself. I have great ideas. “Trust me,” I beg my Husband in the hardware or crafts store, “I’ve got this!”
Unfortunately, I often lack the time or energy to complete my ambitious projects. Or I just grow bored. Or something intervenes (see also turds on the floor) and I just don’t get back to them for months or years.
Reminders of my lack of diligence and follow-through are everywhere. I’ve been using our sofa slip cover every summer since 2009. It needs some simple sewing to clean up the edges and make it look more tailored. I’m sure you can guess the state it’s in. The chest in the living room contains years worth of photo prints that require organization. . .I’m current through November 2011, not counting the fact that I’ve neglected 2009 and 2010. The basement needs painting – for two years now. Mac’s nursery still isn’t complete. He’s almost 13 months old.
But a few days ago, I wondered if I could change my ways? Wouldn’t it feel good to get shit done? To not have these nagging little projects always reminding me of my biggest character flaw? Wouldn’t Mac be learning something valuable from my efforts? Wouldn’t my Husband be happy to have things completed? If I didn’t always have a to-do list 80 items long wouldn’t I have more time to focus on my family?
It sounded magical.
If not absofuckingloutely impossible.
So I started surveying the craft area carnage. And my to do list. And I buckled down and I picked what I thought was going to be a simple task to kick off my new initiative: I was going to dye a dress.
I have this little cotton blend dress I purchased years ago from Target. It’s simple, launders well and is very comfortable on hot days. Of course, since it has so many redeeming qualities, it’s seen a lot of wear over the past few years and it was starting to look a little faded. So I figured, last summer, I’d purchase some fabric dye and see if that would help make it look a little more presentable.
Flash forward almost a year to the day. I grab the bottle of fabric dye off the shelf and dust if off. Sure there are directions on the bottle but sometimes I possess the kind of cavalier attitude and enthusiasm that makes me think directions are more like suggestions and following them is optional.
The dye is TEAL. (Similar to the original color of the dress).
I head to the utility sink with the dress, the dye, grab a beer from the adjacent fridge and dump the bottle of dye (yes, you read that correctly the entire bottle of dye) into the sink with some water and I submerge the dress.
My first clue that perhaps I should have read the directions involved the fact that my hands almost immediately looked like a corpse’s. They were completely blue-green. And I couldn’t get it off! Alcohol based hand sanitizer, soap, water, vinegar. . .you name it, that color wasn’t budging.
Oh well, every resolution requires sacrifice and if teal hands were the price I’d have to pay to get one project done, so be it.
I watched the dress float in the nearly black blue water. How long does it stay in there I wondered?
Of course having already pitched the bottle in the recycle bin and being too lazy to retrieve it, I decided it should stay in there at least overnight.
But then Sunday came along and we had stuff to do blue hands be damned. Then there was other laundry to wash and I knew I had to wash the dress after it was done dying err dyeing. . .
Fast forward to a few hours ago. . .
Led to this:
Which was followed by the washing machine having some kinda’ freak out in the middle of the second cycle I ran to make sure the dye was gone. So I started over again, “load sensing technology” be damned.
And finally there was this:
And what have I learned?
1. The to-do list is for suckers.
2. The utility sink will never be right again.
3. My Husband is not interested in Smurfette role-play.
4. Don’t trust me. EVER.