Whenever I go down to visit my mother, there is always a paper with a list of jobs that they would like for me to do, waiting for me. On this latest visit it was the same. One of the tasks on this most recent list was "Paint the stool on the porch." As it happened, my brother Roy came to visit Mom a week before I came, and he started on the jobs.
He picked up the small wooden stool he saw sitting on the porch and got to work. He sanded down the old paint until it was smooth, then got a can of green spray paint and painted it. He did a good job of refinishing it and was glad to proudly point out his handiwork when I arrived.
When my sister, who made out the list returned, he mentioned that he had gotten the stool on the porch painted and when she went to out to admire his work, she made the discovery that he had painted the wrong stool. Yes, there sitting in the corner, looking ignored, was the intended victim, an old metal stool covered with flaking paint.
Yesterday I got to work on the metal stool. I wire brushed off the flaking paint, sanded down the stool and painted the stool using the remaining green paint in the spray can. After I had finished the job, I walked over to the list of jobs to scratch it out as being done, but didn't get the satisfaction, because my brother had already scratched off the job after he painted the stool.