An ounce of pretention is worth a pound of…

Warning: This post is rated P for Pretentious, because I refer to myself as an artist and might have used the word “commissioned” in reference to something that I am creating, but deleted it because it made even me want to throw up a little bit in my mouth.

So.

The Sister put in a Christmas present request that did not include the words “gift card”, so I was ON IT. She told The Aunt that she needed something for above her bathtub and wanted one of those things with glass and four sticks.

Those of us with more extensive vocabularies tend to refer to them as windows. So, my project was to find her an artistic window. Or just make her one, which would be much easier.

The problem with creating an art piece for someone else is that you need to see the room and space where it will be hung. When I was designing The Aunt’s Christmas gift, I knew exactly what to do, and I scoped out her house for it’s final resting place.

With the sister, however, I did not know what to look for, much less what colors and what kind of art to make for her, so I had to make the dreaded call. To The Mother.

When I called The Mother, she reluctantly told me what colors to use, but then told me that The Sister’s idea of a window was stupid and not to do it. Because that’s how my mother works. She continued to say that the bathroom in which it would hang was much too modern for a window and not to make it and didn’t I already have her finished anyways?

But me, I’m an arteest, so I can do modern. When I hung up the phone with The Mother I had no idea what I would do, but then I thought about a family I sit for that has an incredibly modern house, and thought of the perfect thing to do with the window.

I went down to my happy place, or the Architectural Salvage warehouse in downtown D and picked out the perfect window for the job. Of course, being the high maintenance one that The Sister is, I couldn’t find her window in the $20 bin. No, no. I had to find it in the $35 bin. Already she’s costing me more than I thought.

I found the perfect window, and when I got it out to my car, I discovered that the backside was painted the exact aqua that would make it match the bathroom. Score!

All this to say that I’ve now got my work cut out for me, with cleaning and sanding and painting a window off of an old house for a sister that probably won’t like it anyways because she can’t return it.

But at least The Mother will get to say she informed me thus.