Attention dieters of the world! I have stumbled upon a nifty and expedient weight loss solution: FENCE PAINTING. Yes, fence painting. Forget your Slim Fast, your Hydroxy Cut and your strawberry flavored Menthols. Spraying 63 gallons of black paint on a fence will get your body bikini ready in a hurry.
For the past three days I have been out in the fields painting board fence with Jake. As soon as I zipped up that unventilated painter’s jumpsuit, donned the goggles and the eye mask on a 92 degree day with high humidity, I realized a bikini ready body would be mine, whether I wanted one or not.
I must have sweated out half my body weight in 10 minutes stumbling around a field holding a paint sprayer gun wondering what those purple spots were prancing across my pupils. While I was still lucid, I had a faint inclination I might actually die from heat exhaustion. But I couldn’t take off the suit because that meant chugging a jet stream of black paint and getting paint all over my face and clothes. See:
All things considered, I decided I’d rather die from heat exhaustion than chemical poisoning. And who wants to scrape gobs of black paint out of your ears? Oh, wait, I know: Jake, the original Young Invincible.
We were painting with these giant hoses that can knock out six lengths of fence including the posts in something like 1 minute. We knocked out one mile — some 5,000 feet — of board fence in a day and a half. The pace was relentless. My husband is relentless. There were no languid lunch breaks under a shady tree swapping tales about our reckless youths. No, I had to eat my chunk chicken breast straight from the can topped off with “spicy buffalo wing” flavored crackers then told to get back to the gun. By the second day and some 40 pounds lighter, I had wised up and burned the painter’s suit and donned something more weather appropriate. I present to you, Fence Painter’s Chic:
By that point, though, Jake had put me on hand painting duty to get into the fine detail handiwork around gardens and outbuildings and hard to reach corners. Which was fine with me….I’d had enough of random downwind blasts of paint to my eyes to last me a lifetime. (Seriously, a blast of paint to the eyeballs is about as close a description of hell as I can muster.)
All in all, it was a killer job — as in, it did nearly killed me — but weirdly relaxing at the same time. There is something to be said for working outside. And it was pretty cool looking back at a mile of board fence and thinking, ‘Wow, we did that.’ But that could also have been the paint fumes talking.