What a week. I sold my Red Jeep and smashed my new White Toyota into the garage door. Julian was with me, his stricken look hearing the crunch turned into a---what the heck were you thinking look. It was like he was the parent and I was the child. He loves the new car. I can tell he is going to be one of those men who babies their cars.

The smash was minor. I could have sworn the garage door was up enough for me to back up but the bubble thing that sits on top of the car roof that houses the brake light didn’t clear the bottom of the garage door as it was ascending. It was an easy (gulp!) $150.00 repair.

A painter started on Tuesday. His name is Angel. He does not live up to his name. It’s Saturday and I have three rooms pulled apart, paint buckets sitting in every one of them and barely a brush stroke on the wall. He arrives at ten or so, eats breakfast in the garage; then appears to looks like he’s busying himself; I go out to do some errands; come back about one and he’s gone for lunch. He comes back about four smelling of booze; makes me think he’s working whereas he is just splashing paint on himself. Yesterday he came back at five. I wouldn’t let him in the gate he reeked so bad.

I told him I’d spoken to Mariano, (the painter who was too busy, so recommended Angel in his place) and Mariano was coming the next day at eight to work on finishing, I mean actually doing the job. Angel said he’d come back at eight too. It was a non-confrontational conversation. Luckily Angel is a happy drunk.

It’s now the next day and well after 10 and no painters. I think I’ll use the waiting time to go and set a nice table for them in
the garage.