Conversation with the Painter

"Hi," I say, "Feel free to come in whenever you want..."
"Oh, thanks," he replies, "I'd love a cup of coffee."

Thank goodness he's happy making himself Nescafe instant.

He's been itchin to talk to someone, so he chats about the weather, the house colors, the lake... then he warns me that he won't be working much longer today. He picked up three cans of paint, but two of them had bright green in them, so he'll have to return them. And so on.

He eventually goes outside to work, I finish cleaning up the bacon-and-eggs-breakfast mess, then go upstairs, get dressed, put on some make up and run a pick through my hair.

A few hours later, while I'm sitting at my laptop, tagging new facebook friends in all the photos I took yesterday, he pops his head into the dining area. "OK, I'm leaving now..."
"Alright."
"Could you tell that other girl?"
"Wha??"
"I wasn't talking to you earlier, was I? Where did she go?"
"No that was the morning version of me. This is the afternoon version of me. She's easier on the eyes."
"Really? That was you?"
"Yeah. Make up is a beautiful thing."