I also painted the porch this past week, which was a sort of disaster. I painted the floor of it dark blue (like the shutters on our house) and it looks all great and everything, except I should have left a sign for kids to enter through the back. Or "wet paint" or something. A kid came up the porch and pulled the paint up in the print of his foot in several areas, and then somehow he touched the paint and christened my storm door with his finger prints.
I was livid. All I can say is that the kid ran away and his older brother was banned from my property until I could re-paint that madness.
Eraser Eater promptly made a sign for me and stuck it outside. He put "DANGER!" in large capital letters.
To be honest, the porch was depressing me. It looked horrible. And we were having people over for the Girl's eighth birthday party. I painted it days before the event, but because of all the thunderstorms and high humidity, it took a century to dry. I thought since the day before the party was completely sunny, I could do little touch ups in the walk way. I'm an idiot.
The next morning it was fabulously wet so in my Sunday best, I took one of my good rags (I can't think clearly in the morning, you know that) and wiped it all up. But I was barefoot and I got paint all over the bottom of my feet. It covered the bottom of my feet, actually. And I forgot about it. I just put on my heels and went, wondering later why it was a bit hard to take them off.
After the party was over (it was after church) the Prof. and I sat down with our glasses of pop and talked. He was on the couch opposite me. I kicked my feet up on the coffee table. Immobile, he stole a glance at my (I am sure) dark colored blue feet bottoms. But he thought he was being slick and looked at me like it was nothing but I intercepted. "I know what you're thinking," I said,"I stepped on the wet porch this morning...."
"Um, yeah, I was about to say..."
I don't know how many times in my marriage I will feel like Lucy Ricardo, wincing.