My adventures with Weaselmomma are always good times. In fact, I was going to link to our past outings as I usually do, but we’re building up a large collection of those–and frankly, I’m feeling lazy about it–so I just created a LABEL called “Weaselmomma” (you’re welcome, WM!). If you want to read about our times of mayhem and madness, click on the label when you finish this post and you’ll be whisked away to some of our past get-togethers.

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, we always have fun. Always. So what I’m about to describe to you should not give you the impression that it wasn’t loads of fun, at all, because it was. There’s my disclaimer.

We had a couple of projects to work on for Suburban WoW, and somebody thought it would be a great idea to spend the afternoon at the paint-it-yourself pottery place. And it was, really.

We walked in there, all excited about what we were about to create, just jibber-jabbering away as always. Picking out the exact pieces to paint was a riot in itself; we had to debate style and utility, but we quickly came to a consensus and got seated at a table. Other than a brave, young mother who came to paint a 1st birthday plate while her up-and-coming one year old was seated in a stroller eating animal crackers (hence the braveness: would YOU go to a ceramics store with a wide-awake baby? I wouldn’t!), we were the only ones in the place.

After putting our pieces on our table, we stood in front of the paints for a few minutes, trying to develop a strategy. The thing about ceramic paints is, you can’t really tell the true color (what it will be after firing) from just looking at the bottle; you have to look at a chart full of painted and fired tiles to get it right. Luckily, Weaselmomma and I are both pretty agreeable; I think one of the reasons we get along so well is that we have a pretty good give-and-take kind of thing going when it comes to opinions, and if one of us feels stronger about something, the other one says, “Okay, that’s fine; we’ll go with that.” We’re excellent with The Compromise. That’s why choosing our colors only took about five minutes, which is a time-save that I now fully appreciate, considering the length of the rest of our visit.

As Weaselmomma is a self-described Non-Crafty Person, she was thrilled when I told her that we had to paint the background of each piece in a solid color. “I can do that!” she exclaimed.

The ever-so-helpful (Not.) woman who was working the joint told us that they recommend three coats of paint so the colors come out nice and bright after firing. “Great!” I said, as we chose our brushes and poured the paint.

Sometime later, that “Great!” turned into “Ugh, this is a pain in the butt!!!” I mean, seriously, painting and waiting, painting and waiting, painting and waiting…

(remember, we were doing several pieces!)

We had lots to chat about though, as always.

When we were done with painting the solid color all over all of our pieces, it was time for the detail work.

Weaselmomma doesn’t do detail work.

Ever. (*snort* Sorry WM, had to get that one in there!)

So I found a smaller brush and got to work. While I painted, Weaselmomma pulled out her laptop and read blog posts to me. I am laughing as I type this part because it sounds so silly; it makes me think of how, in the olden days, the man would row the boat and his lady friend would lay there in the boat and read to him, to pass the time. Same idea here, I guess. And she kept me entertained, so I guess it works.

Time was ticking, and we were getting older and older as I continued to paint our little, stupid details on our stupid projects.

Weaselmomma looked at the time and was amazed that two hours had gone by already. (Felt like six) She said, “Well, I think I’m gonna have to jump in here and do some of these finishing details.” I was so glad she did, because if she hadn’t, we might still be there now. She asked me what type of brush she should use, and I described it to her. She walked around the shop, looking into all of the brush cans, trying to find what I had described. She’d bring a brush to me and say, “This one?”, and I’d say, “Nope.” I think she brought me about forty four brushes that I sharply rejected before she finally said, “Forget it! I’m using this one!”

So there we sat, still talking but our mojo was fading fast. We were totally slumping in our chairs, our good posture gone, our speech rate slowed down from the excited chatter of more than two hours ago. The whining had begun.

“Man, I never thought it would take THIS long…”

“I DO have other things to do today…”

“Do you REALLY think I need three coats on this little part?”

We hardly noticed that it was pouring outside as we worked; who cared about the outside world? We just had these stupidstupidstupid pieces to finish before we could move on with our lives.

Finally–and coincidentally, as the rain stopped–we were done. Done! What a glorious word.

We paid for our stuff and left it on the table to be taken to the kiln, and we walked out into the sunshine sort of like old ladies from sitting too long, feeling completely and utterly fried. Our minds were numb; we felt like we had taken college entrance exams. In a daze, we made our way back to our cars, giving a half-wave to each other as we parted ways after a fun, but completely mind-numbing afternoon.