up the room, it would have made us feel as if we’d just walked inside a huge cantaloupe.
I put it on the counter, out of the way. But Nick and I must not have closed the lid tightly enough when we’d stuck it under the sink, because when I bumped it with my arm and it fell onto the linoleum floor with a loud bang, the cover flew off and bounced across the room. I watched with horror as thick orange liquid sloshed across the floor, splattering into long, menacing fingers that reached into every corner.
“No!”
I wailed.
My two dogs, who had pretty much been minding their own business up until that point, interpreted my outburst as a cry for help. Either that or they thought something involving food was going on.
At any rate, they both came loping in. Even though I instantly knew what was about to happen, there was no way to stop it, since there was no actual door in the doorway. Within seconds, my kitchen floor was covered with orange paw prints, both Westie-size and Dalmatian-size.
“Max, get out of there!” I shrieked. “Lou, stop!”
Max froze, looking up at me guiltily. As for Lou, the sharpness of my tone sent him skittering across the wet floor. Before either of us knew what was happening, he slipped and ended up lying on his side.
In addition to large orange smears all over the floor in front of the refrigerator, I now had a large, gangly dog who was orange along the left side of his body.
What’s black and white and orange all over, I thought morosely.
I scooped up Max, figuring I’d minimize the damage by getting my dogs out of there as fast as I could. It would have been a good plan, except for the fact that his fluffy white paws had become fluffy paintbrushes, turning my shirt, pants, and most of the skin on my arms the same bright color that everything else was quickly turning.
Lou began barking furiously, no doubt sensing how upset I was and not having a clue that his canine enthusiasm was part of the reason.
“Quiet!” I barked back.
His sweet face tightened into an expression of remorse. I could have handled hurting his feelings, just a little bit. What I couldn’t handle was the fact that he decided to try getting back in my good graces by sitting down in the middle of the paint-covered floor and holding up one orange paw as if responding to the command “Shake.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized that at any other time I might have considered this whole scene hilarious. And I might even have found comfort in the fact that this was water-based paint, which wouldn’t be all that hard to clean up as long as it didn’t dry.
But this wasn’t any other time. This was now, when Nick’s parents were due in only a couple of hours.
“Stay!” I commanded Lou. He gave a hopeful little wag of his tail, as if the fact that I was paying attention to him meant he was back on my A-list. Determined to give it his best shot, he remained sitting, his orange butt glued to the orange floor.
I took a few steps toward the kitchen doorway and kicked off my shoes, which now had squishy orange soles. Then I carried Max across the living room, opened the front door, and deposited him outside. Cat and Tink watched in silence, as if wondering what poor Max had done to deserve banishment.
Next I dashed into the bathroom and grabbed the biggest towel I could find, cajoled Lou into lying down on it, and dragged him across the living-room floor so he could join Max in the great outdoors.
Thanks to two and a half rolls of paper towels, a lot of water, and a bottle of some magical cleaning fluid that smelled like something an undertaker would use, I managed to turn the linoleum floor back to its original shade of grayish-white. Of course, the dangerous chemical smell from the cleaning fluid lingered in the air. I could practically feel the brain cells dying off.
But at least my kitchen looked as if normal people lived in it instead of Smurfs.
I’d just gotten the floor back to its normal
I put it on the counter, out of the way. But Nick and I must not have closed the lid tightly enough when we’d stuck it under the sink, because when I bumped it with my arm and it fell onto the linoleum floor with a loud bang, the cover flew off and bounced across the room. I watched with horror as thick orange liquid sloshed across the floor, splattering into long, menacing fingers that reached into every corner.
“No!”
I wailed.
My two dogs, who had pretty much been minding their own business up until that point, interpreted my outburst as a cry for help. Either that or they thought something involving food was going on.
At any rate, they both came loping in. Even though I instantly knew what was about to happen, there was no way to stop it, since there was no actual door in the doorway. Within seconds, my kitchen floor was covered with orange paw prints, both Westie-size and Dalmatian-size.
“Max, get out of there!” I shrieked. “Lou, stop!”
Max froze, looking up at me guiltily. As for Lou, the sharpness of my tone sent him skittering across the wet floor. Before either of us knew what was happening, he slipped and ended up lying on his side.
In addition to large orange smears all over the floor in front of the refrigerator, I now had a large, gangly dog who was orange along the left side of his body.
What’s black and white and orange all over, I thought morosely.
I scooped up Max, figuring I’d minimize the damage by getting my dogs out of there as fast as I could. It would have been a good plan, except for the fact that his fluffy white paws had become fluffy paintbrushes, turning my shirt, pants, and most of the skin on my arms the same bright color that everything else was quickly turning.
Lou began barking furiously, no doubt sensing how upset I was and not having a clue that his canine enthusiasm was part of the reason.
“Quiet!” I barked back.
His sweet face tightened into an expression of remorse. I could have handled hurting his feelings, just a little bit. What I couldn’t handle was the fact that he decided to try getting back in my good graces by sitting down in the middle of the paint-covered floor and holding up one orange paw as if responding to the command “Shake.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized that at any other time I might have considered this whole scene hilarious. And I might even have found comfort in the fact that this was water-based paint, which wouldn’t be all that hard to clean up as long as it didn’t dry.
But this wasn’t any other time. This was now, when Nick’s parents were due in only a couple of hours.
“Stay!” I commanded Lou. He gave a hopeful little wag of his tail, as if the fact that I was paying attention to him meant he was back on my A-list. Determined to give it his best shot, he remained sitting, his orange butt glued to the orange floor.
I took a few steps toward the kitchen doorway and kicked off my shoes, which now had squishy orange soles. Then I carried Max across the living room, opened the front door, and deposited him outside. Cat and Tink watched in silence, as if wondering what poor Max had done to deserve banishment.
Next I dashed into the bathroom and grabbed the biggest towel I could find, cajoled Lou into lying down on it, and dragged him across the living-room floor so he could join Max in the great outdoors.
Thanks to two and a half rolls of paper towels, a lot of water, and a bottle of some magical cleaning fluid that smelled like something an undertaker would use, I managed to turn the linoleum floor back to its original shade of grayish-white. Of course, the dangerous chemical smell from the cleaning fluid lingered in the air. I could practically feel the brain cells dying off.
But at least my kitchen looked as if normal people lived in it instead of Smurfs.
I’d just gotten the floor back to its normal
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