. . . unless you're allergic.*
Last week I worked at my first Habitat for Humanity house. I say first because I'd like to do it again. But I am not sure I'll end up as lucky as I did this time.
I am not what one would call 'marginally competent' with hand tools. Its not like I have never held a hammer. Of course I have held a hammer. My Dad is a carpenter. Its just that every time I picked up a hammer, my Dad would approach me slowly, talking in a calm voice, and convince me to put it down... much the same way one would talk down an armed person on television--not just any armed person, but a confused and upset armed woman who was only going to shoot the guy that hurt her baby because she didn't see any other options and didn't care about the consequences for her...and her hand is shaking because she is really conflicted because she wants to do the right thing but isn't sure whether pulling the trigger or dropping the gun IS the right thing. Just like that, but with a hammer.
I am not what one would call 'mechanically inclined.'
I am not what one would call 'graceful.'
I am what one might call a 'walking train wreck waiting to happen.'
So of course, I decided to lend my non-skill to a construction site that people would eventually live in. Because really, what could go wrong?
Fortunately, it was painting day. After some clean up efforts, we had to prime the whole house, which was awesome. Painting, I can do. If I could guarantee I'd work on priming day, I'd volunteer regularly. Because really, no one should live in a house in which I was responsible for nailing the frame. My Dad would not approve.
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* I am not. Refers to the fact that we were all pretty much covered in paint by the time lunch rolled around, and there was no running water.
Yay for Habitat for Humanity! I always love doing that kind of thing, especially painting. Although once I used a gigantic table saw to cut siding. That was pretty awesome. I thought it gave me street cred for a while.
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