A few weekends ago, on a cold winter Sunday, I painted my room at my dad’s house. One wall was left to paint and for some reason my dad suggested I could paint it by myself, big mistake. I rolled my roller through the magenta paint and started painting on the wall. I started off pretty well, until I smudged the white window frame with paint. I reached for a rag to fix it but I lost my balance- something I do a lot. I tried to brace myself with the still-wet-wall. Now paint was all over my hands and there were two handprints on the wall. I tried my best to fix it and, personally, I thought the wall looked pretty good. I finished and left my “masterpiece” to eat dinner. Later, my dad went to check how amazing my paint skills were. And I could just tell by the ‘what-in-the-world-happened-here?’ look on his face that it wasn’t good. But honestly, how good did he think I was going to do?