The Painting Smock

I was painting some trim this morning on our living room stairway. I hate house painting, interior or exterior. I tend to get paint on everything. Has anyone else noticed the uncanny ability of a drop of paint to always find the one tiny tear in a carefully spread 9X12 sheet of plastic? And only when the hole is over carpet or upholstery? It's maddening.

Anyway, I started thinking about my painting smock. I have been painting in this smock for exactly thirty years today. It is the hospital scrub coat they gave me to wear in the delivery room the day my son was born.

It has held up remarkably well. By the time my daughter was born nine years later, the scrubs they gave me were made of paper. But this one is sturdy cotton with a smooth canvas front. It was originally blue and gray. It's all faded and tattered around the edges. But it still fits me, thanks to its wrap-around styling and long drawstring.

It is covered with splashes of paint from every room my family has ever lived in.

Based on the smock, it appears we have lived a mostly beige life. With a few splashes of blue. There has been a bit of red. (The back of a bookcase if I remember correctly. ) But mostly, it has been beige.

It's odd really. Both the kids are gone. We have gone through four houses, and still I'm painting in this smock. I wonder how long it will last.

Thirty years is a fine lifespan for a throw-away garment. Now that I think of it, part of its durability may have something to do with the fact that it has never been washed. That's not as gross as it sounds. It is a smock after all. I always had something else on underneath. And it still smells quite fresh.

Actually, my wife gets a gleam in her eye whenever she sees me wearing this smock. And it's from more than just the knowledge that I'm actually working on one of my long list of perpetually unfinished projects. It's possible she considers it my sexiest outfit. I suspect I could get laid just by putting it on. Hmmm. Might be worth a try…

Based on its current state of wear, I'm guessing it stands a fair chance of outlasting me. Now that I think of it, I should probably will it to my son, just so it will be taken care of. Or maybe I'll just ask to be buried in it.