A Story of Wet Paint

A comedy or a tragedy? Either way you look at it, this is a story of wet paint.

My day off was yesterday. The house was to receive the prince and princess again for prayer and the doctor was coming around the same time, so I wasn't sure I could be spared. I helped Rebecca with her makeup, hair and a few other random things in her bedroom. It looked like things would go smoothly without me so I prepared for my day off. I was already showered and ready:

And documented how I felt about going out alone:

So I posted a blog about out trip into Brussels and googled some things to do around Genval. I considered going here to Villers-la-Ville, the ruins of an ancient monastery, or to Brussels again, but this time on my own. :( I really wanted to see the monastery with my sister so I decided to go back into Brussels. So I stalled a little bit, was hungry so I walked down the stairs to go to the kitchen but the meeting was going on in the room between me and the kitchen so I was blocked...fine, decision made, I'm forced to go out on my own. I grabbed my things and headed out the door to the train station a little more confident than last time. I surveyed the platform, there wasn't anyone around as I was 20 minutes early and I sat down and waited for the train to come. So I sat on a chair and waited.

Along came a girl. A nice looking girl about my age in a tan trench coat for whom I removed my purse from the chair next to me so that she could know I wasn't going to bite her if she chose to sit by me. You see, further along down the line of chairs there were two separate signs taped to the seat of two chairs. I'd assumed they were both broken, therefore that left only a few chairs to sit in, and they were both to either side of me. I hoped she would find me friendly enough to take the stranger danger plunge.

She didn't.
She just stood to the chair next to me fiddling with her purse.
And then she touched my shoulder.

She motioned me forward with her hand on my shoulder. I sat forward and my shirt stuck to the back of the seat and pulled away slowly, wet paint (wet, red paint) attaching itself to my beautiful, newly purchased just before I came to Belgium cardigan. (Abby was with me when I bought it. Fun times. :)) I stood up aghast making small 'oh no' noises while the girl looked on sympathetically, realizing I didn't speak French at the same time. I motioned, asking if it was also on my pants. She pointed to my other shirt, so I took off my cardigan, put on my coat that I had deliberated for so long in my head about bringing, thankful that I had, and walked back to the house, thanking the kind girl as I left.

I felt pretty silly and kind of defeated. Apparently those two little sings on two of the seat further down the row were supposed to tell me that ALL the seats had been freshly painted. In no way did any of them look freshly painted. Probably because others like me had sat down on the other seats...maybe.

I got home, my red checkered cardigan in hand. Annie and Katina were eating lunch at the kitchen table, the royal guests had gone. I showed them my cardigan and went to the laundry room, stripped down and put my coat on. And took pictures, of course.

 I later found it to be on the inside of my jacket and at the waist hem of my jeans, as well.

How I felt as I went upstairs to change.

I planned to change and go directly back to the train station....but I ate lunch with the ladies and went upstairs to the family room for a nap instead. I slept for 3 hours.

After a 3 hour nap.

Katina found me then on the couch feeling sorry for myself that my intended day of fun ended up being a day in the house. She was so sweet and made me go outside to the patio saying that the fresh air would do me good.
                                          

Of course she was right. I read a sweet, encouraging and convicting message from a friend and came downstairs with a different attitude. I was able to have a really great conversation with my Mom while she worked at the office at DSC (where she is filling in for me while I'm gone) and

also had the privilege of speaking with C. Rush for a bit too. 

Today I showed my sad articles of clothing to the lot at the house and we all boo hooed over them and tried to figure out a way to get the stains out. (Any suggestions anyone.) L said that I should just return to the scene of the clothing crime and put red criss cross paint stains all over my cardigan. :oP

Ah well. So is life in a foreign land.