Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Youngest has been making noises for some time about wanting to repaint her bedroom.

A younger, more fire-brand Robbo would have had a fit about this, citing all kinds of logistical and technical difficulties to put the kybosh on the project in order to cover the fact that he simply didn’t want her to do it.

The older, more laisse-faire Robbo simply said, “Fine.  Do what you want.  Whatever happens, though, you’re stuck with it.  Just don’t get me tangled up in it all.”

And there, at least for a couple months, the matter rested.

Whelp, the Gel actually went out and followed through on it this week.  She collared one of the young men she holds in thrall, toddled off with him to Home Despot, got the doings, and went to work.  (I suspect said young man actually wound up doing a good bit of the painting himself.  She did treat him to ice cream afterwards.)  Ordinarily, Ol’ Robbo has an ironclad rule that males are not allowed upstairs at Port Swiller Manor except those related to us by blood or marriage, but I reckoned this was a special case.

And you know?  They actually did a pretty decent job.  (The walls are a sort of lavender blue now.  She still needs to go back and touch up the white trim around the windows but, hey, who doesn’t?)

And the Gel cleaned up afterward all by herself.

And Ol’ Robbo didn’t have to be involved or untangle anybody else’s mess.