Are the paint fumes to blame?

There is nothing worse than painting in extreme heat. Actually there is nothing more worse than painting in extreme heat, and realising that those drips you feel running down your shin are not, as you thought, beads of sweat*, but rather enamel paint dripping off the paint tray you didn't realise you were holding on an angle.

There is, however, no explaining why I stood there and watched it pool in my good trainers (why I wore them to paint I'm not sure) rather than (a) straighten up the paint tray, or (b) run to the sink and clean them off.

Yes I was that tired.

And that braindead after painting approximately eleventy million** door and windowframes that nothing made much sense anymore. Although that could have been the paint fumes...



* my mother, reading over my shoulder, comments "Suzy, women do not sweat. Horses sweat. Women perspire." No mother, I was sweating. Ugly, not at all ladylike, beads of sweat were running out of every pore. Which, by the way, ew.

** please note number may not actually exist