Friends. Dear friends. You remember my ceaseless complaining about the painters? About the deck job that wouldn’t end? About my troglodytic existence last month? Well, I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’ve become a victim of the upsell.
You know the upsell: would you like to supersize that for 29 cents extra? Buy an extra book and get free shipping. Like that. In my case, the upsell took me from painting the (hideous) heads to painting the. Entire. Interior.
I hear you gasping. Amy, you were talking such a good game. How did this happen? I identify two culprits: 1. Erik, and 2. Planning. First, Erik and the painters secretly decided to pull down the hideous, stained bumpy vinyl wallpaper headliner in the navigation area. Honestly, it looks like it was made of old bus seats liberally sprinkled with mildew and rust, and applied by someone in hurry working in the dark. I hate it. Which Erik knows. So, once it was down, we had to do that area, too.
|Everyone is joining in the fun!|
Cleverly, Erik gave me a day to adjust to this new state of affairs before broaching the question of the rest of our living space. I gave him a glare that should have melted his face off. Erik did some Erik-style fancy talking. He painted a vision of the hated headliner disappearing from the whole boat. Of how awful the old parts would look beside the freshly painted areas. I glared some more. And then, I dug my own grave: I suggested we map it out the job, piece by piece, to see if it would be feasible. I can’t stand speculation; I am a sucker for cold, hard fact. Papillon is a vessel dedicated to the Testable Hypothesis. We have guests coming for Christmas and in the new year; if we could work around those dates and still get the job done, then fine. Let’s paint it.
And, curses, it worked. With even an extra week of fat before our January visitors.
So here I am. The salon, front head, navigation area and galley are now out of bounds (because Erik is ripping out the fridge during all of this, naturally).
|And just for a little extra fun...|
I have to say, though, being stuck on deck is far superior to being stuck below. The fresh air, and all. And why do I need fresh air? Because the adhesive for the accursed headliner only comes off with GASOLINE. Scraping didn’t work. A host of other solvents didn’t work. So here we are, trying to do math on the foredeck while the workmen wipe gasoline all over the ceiling down below. Sigh.
|Your correspondent is filled with regret.|
But the really, really truly best part? In January, when we do the aft cabin and the v-berth simultaneously? All four of us are going to have to bunk down in the salon together. For about ten days.