Red Hatters pottery painting
Truth be told I am about as creative as a copier machine however, when I got the call from my 80yr old Grammy to join her and the Red Hatters for a night out creating master works of pottery, I was all over it! The pottery painting place is one of my daughter’s and my favorite spot to spend quality time and $$$. Money being the operative word in my last sentence. I mean, why wouldn’t you justify spending that outrageously inflated price of $46 on a serving platter? YOUR child CREATED it with her mind and bare hands right? Sometimes that explanation works when the hubby wants to know why a small loan was drafted to cover an evening of pottery painting, but I wouldn’t recommend using it. To be safe, just opt for the cheap animal figurine.
The Red Hatters were in full garb and ready for some paint brush action by the time we arrived. Some of the women were amazingly creative and took to their project like seasoned Generals. Confidence abounded around them as they picked their pottery and paint colors without an ounce of hesitation. Within minutes these creative wonders were seated and feverishly went to work on their master pieces. Then there were the women who stood with an entire arsenal of books in hand frantically flipping between the pages trying to find “just the right one.” Likewise, picking out their paint colors was, for these individuals, like filling out a 50 page application complete with blood and urine samples. Detailed and Antagonizing. By the time I reached the lady who was assisting us I seriously felt for her. I mean she looked spent! Stray hairs were springing out from her previously manicured doo and stress covered her face. She wasn’t even trying to smile as she motioned for me. I sucked in my breath and approached her. The colors were overwhelming and there were soooo many to choose only six!! Blank. Blank. Blank. I couldn’t think of what to choose. So I decided to explain the colors of my kitchen and what I was looking for in the salt n pepper shaker that I had chosen and had in hand….what I wanted them to do for me. Surely this detailed monolog would cause the colors to skip off the wall and into my palate, right? As I began my verbal decent I heard a familiar voice beside me echoing almost the exact same verbiage. I paused and looked behind me to see my MOTHER complete with dinner plate (also in hand) attempting to explain to the other exasperated lady what she expected to create from the dinner plate…what she wanted this plate to do for her. I paused and stood silently as the reality hit me. I was JUST like her! Much to the angst of the sales ladies we were blah, blah, blahing them to death! The entire group of Red Hatters had passed by the paint station and here we, of the same DNA were left in mirror image faltering worse than that of the detailed and antagonizing individuals! We were 100% indecisive. Oh, could it really be?
I quickly snapped out of my traumatizing realization by the “ahem” of the stressed-out paint girl. Leaving my mom in her verbose quagmire, I picked out some colors and went to work. Now should it surprise you that I was not able to finish my work of art by closing time and was subsequently kicked out? I was given the option to return another day and complete my masterpiece.
Mom, Grammy, my daughter and I called it a night. On the way home my mom decided to swing by Starbucks (she denied me earlier when I had a brain splitting headache) and get some Java. While we were waiting in line my Grammy began to “street talk” like a gangsta. It is our belief that the extended exposure to paint fumes may have been to much for her. Or, as my mom remarked “The Home Is Calling!”