While I’m waiting for revision notes on A Fairy Godmother’s Guide to Saving Troubled Teens, I’m trying to chip away at my To-Do list. Namely, I’m putting up the mural in my daughter’s room that I bought for her at Christmas. (Not last Christmas, the Christmas before–yeah, I’ve been busy.) I put primer up yesterday and ran out so I had to go to the store and buy more to put up today. The problem was that I splattered some on my clothes yesterday and had to furiously wash it out before it could stain. I used to have some paint pants, but I think I chucked them. (It’s obviously been awhile since I did this sort of thing.)
So as I’m coming home from the store I come up with a great idea. I could just paint without my clothes and then I wouldn’t have to worry about ruining anything. After all, I’m alone in the house. The kids are at school, I’m not expecting anyone, the shades are down–what could go wrong?
See, that’s the problem with being a comedy writer. My mind is full of ideas about things that could go wrong, and go wrong in a big way. Getting locked out of the house is top on that list. The UPS man showing up and needing me to sign for those revision notes is number two. My husband unexpectedly bringing home his boss also ranks high.
I will go find some pants to ruin now.
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