Forget anything I’ve said about previous versions of there being only two types of people in the world. The definitive measure is whether people say they like to paint.
I hate painting. I hate the prep. I hate the mess. I hate the cleanup. I frequently run into someone who says, “I love to paint!” And I look at him like he’s still standing in the exhaust cloud of the spaceship that dropped him off on this planet.
I was up in the “attic” at the house again this evening, bent over and crumpled up, covered in insulation and dust, sweat dripping down my brow, and all I could think was, “Thank God I’m not painting.” I don’t dislike people who claim to enjoy painting, I simply question their self awareness.