I watch a lot of HGTV. A LOT. It’s hard to resist– a bit like watching a fairy tale unfold in real time. The magic fairy (AKA witch) has cast a spell over me. I am now convinced that with the proper tools and access to Pottery Barn, I too can be a designer/contractor genius.
It begins innocently enough. I peruse the bathroom space – dingy Melamine cabinets with peeling sides, an ostentatious lack of hardware and several chipping baseboards. I make the call to focus on that and leave the wall paint and tile for another day. I don’t have a tile cutter after all and haven’t read that book yet. But cabinet paint, cabinet paint I can handle. I budget $200 and two hours of labor.
I buy the equipment. Carefully chosen hardware from the local hardware store’s sale bin, plastic drop cloths, painter’s tape, paint, drill, sandpaper, and hardware guide. I am good to go. I get to floating and taping.
Huh. The painter’s tape isn’t sticking. It just curls off … and then sticks to itself. Hmm. Well. That’s no good. I set the tape down on the drop cloth. Now it sticks … to the drop cloth, my shoe, and my dress. No problem. I was going to need to change. I toss the green tape in favor of good old blue, and trade in the sundress for shorts and a tank top. I re-do the plastic drop cloth. Much better.
Paint tape, check. I move on to the hardware. Being a veteran DIY viewer/reader, I know enough to prep for the hardware before painting. I pull out my hardware marker and start marking. Perfect. I line up the drill and voila! Beautiful holes. I want to see how fabulous my handiwork is. I line up my handle. Hmm. Holes are too close together. I re-measure. 1/16” off. No problem. That’s why they make wood filler. I quickly fill in the hole and move on to the next one. This time I get the spacing right, but it’s crooked. Maybe there’s something wrong with my level. I shake it. Bubbles are fine. It must have slipped. I’m starting to wonder if I have enough wood filler.
An hour and a half later I have completed my hardware holes and am down two jars of wood filler. Not a huge blow to the budget – just a measly $5.00. The new hardware will cover most of the holes. I am filled with renewed confidence and am ready to tackle the peeling Melamine.
I pull out the wood glue and begin my first peeling section. I work both sides until they are tacky, hold them together, and voila! Fixed Melamine. I move on to the next door … and see the Melamine from the first pop off. Huh. Maybe I need to hold it longer. Six tries. No luck. I decide to head back to Home Depot for a clamp.
$30.00 later and the clamp just slides down the door. Melamine hates me. I officially hate it back. I take a deep breath. It’s just a little hiccup. I decide the paint will seal it.
I am way behind schedule. I re-think priming. I decide to prime the peeling sections only. Seems to be working – somewhat. Between the glue and the primer, the peelings are sticking. Aside from a few unsightly drip marks, they look remarkably better. While attempting to correct one cabinet, I notice the bulge on the bottom side of the other. Huh; didn’t notice that before. I investigate and discover water damage from an overturned shampoo bottle. No problem. Sand and prime with Kills -– take that Melamine!!
I begin my sanding with my heavy gage sandpaper – no fine grit for this job! The cabinet appears to be shredding. I now have a mess of wood shavings on the floor. I google “water damage and wood shredding upon sanding.“ The news is not good. You shouldn’t sand water-damaged particle board. I say a bad word. I google, “wood sealants.” And I embark on another trip to home depot.
Wood sealant and can #2 of Kills – $94.23. Budget is starting to take a hit.
Hour three and I am ready to paint. I am back on track and rocking it! This is my forte: the paint is looking good. Nice clean brush strokes, beautiful cross hatching, a few loose brush hairs and some sawdust … wait. That’s not good. That’s not good at all. I cuss a little. I take a paint cloth and wipe down that section. I’m ready to repaint when I tip over my paint cup. I cuss a little more. It’s OK. I congratulate myself on my flawless drop cloth application. No harm done … until I sit in the paint. Words I didn’t know I knew fly out of my mouth. I decide I need a break and opt to get some water.
Walking back, I see it — the trail of oil-based footprints leading to and from the kitchen. What can only be described as a primordial scream escapes from my throat. I scrub off my foot with mineral spirits. I remove my shorts before cleaning the floor. Pretty smart. No sense risking more paint on the wood floor.
I make my way back to admire my paint job and toss the shorts in the corner. It doesn’t look as good as I thought. It probably just needs a second coat. I read the label. Three hours between coats. Are you *&%$ing kidding me??? It’s Ok. I can test out one of the handles and see how it looks.
So far, so good. Screws are a little long, but I have extra nuts. I’ll just double bolt. Not bad. As if to taunt me, the faux drawer slips, revealing a gap. Great. It’s broken. I pull at it a little and the whole face comes off in my hand. I yell many, many more bad words. I recall the ineffectiveness of the wood glue and opt for super glue instead. Stupid drawer thinks it’s going to get the better of me – think again drawer face!!
I spread some super glue on the cabinet and set the faux drawer face in my lap. Sweat keeps running into my eyes and I am pretty sure I have paint in my hair. I’m getting dizzy from the fumes from the glue and the mineral spirits. I persevere. I spread the glue on the drawer face and let it sit a minute to get tacky. I’ve got this! I lift the piece up. Drawer face has won.
I have super glued it to my bare leg. I hear myself sob. I rip it off my leg. … along with a chunk of my skin. Now, I’m bleeding. I crawl over to the toilet and pull off some toilet tissue to stick on the wound.
And it is at this point that my husband walks into the room to assess the progress. He doesn’t say anything at first. He just raises an eyebrow. I look around. I am half naked and bleeding, covered in paint and sweat. The room is covered in a mix of paint, sawdust and hardware … with my shorts tossed in the corner and a broken drawer face at my paint-stained bare feet.
He finally breaks the silence, “Call the guy …” and walks out.
I start to protest and then finally nod in tearful agreement. The HGTV siren has guided my ship toward the rocks once again …