Or I'm just an idiot. I'm not quite sure which just yet. However, just know that my other hand looked exactly like this and use that information to make your own judgment.
All of this began on what was supposed to be a nice, quiet Sunday afternoon. I'd redone a piece of furniture the day before and wanted something easy to tackle. I looked around at my ever growing collection of stuff in the redo pile and pondered. Chair that needs painting and recovering of the cushion? Nah, too time consuming. Spray painting frames? No, not enough of a challenge. Hey, that mirror's still in the pile. Redo a mirror, they said. It'll be fun, they said. Yeah, notsomuch.
Charlotte the French Provincial dresser came with a matching mirror, however, I didn't want to re-attach the mirror after I redid the dresser. First, it sat in my trunk forever, then it lived at BFF's for a while when I had to take it out of the car before we did a road trip to Ikea, and then it finally came back to my house and spent some time propped up against the wall in my bedroom. I'd mulled over where to put it in my house and finally had decided to spray paint it gold and hang it above my makeshift buffet in my Great Gatsby (yes, this is real life) themed dining room. So, on this sunny almost summer Sunday, I decided to move this from the project pile. I mean, how hard could spray painting a simple mirror be, right?
These are the only two progress pictures I have because from the beginning almost everything went horribly wrong. First, there were about 89 (okay, maybe 10) screws on the back of this thing. 87 of them were Phillips screws. Two, yes two, were flat head. I could not locate the flat head screwdriver in my house to save my life, so I tried some alternative methods. Penny? Didn't work. Butter knife? Not using my silverware on these 39 year old rusty screws. Nail file? A ha! Very painfully slowly, I got the two flat head screws off.
So, at this point I'm a little flustered and wonder why I didn't just put some paper and tape over the glass, but I soldier on. I drag my giant piece of spray painting cardboard outside into the summer but not really summer yet 102% humidity and begin to spray paint. At which point, I realize I am almost out of spray paint. I squeeze until my little finger is about to fall off and almost get the whole thing covered when I realize I will definitely need more spray paint. So I drag my little wilted self off to Home Depot and buy more Rustoleum Metallic Gold spray paint, which, by the way, is great! Return home, finish painting, and let it dry.
This is where our long and somewhat painful story takes a tragic and legitimately painful turn. Somehow, after I had managed to unscrew the 87 Phillips screws and two flat head screws, it was relatively easy to take the mirror out of the frame. I am not sure if I just flipped the frame over and lifted it up or what, but this did not strike me as the treacherous part of my journey at the time. However, I mulled over how I would put the mirror back in the frame and I figured I'd just lay the frame face down, pick up the glass, lay it down into the frame, and voila. I wiped the mirror down and then picked it up and set it down on the floor standing up so I could flip it around. And this is when instead of firmly placing it down on its side I didn't realize how far off the ground it was and it slipped through my fingers. Or should I say sliced through my fingers. Seven of them, to be exact.
Mr. Finding Treasures wasn't home at the time, so screaming for help was fruitless. I had somehow managed to not let go of the mirror and have it crash into a million pieces, so I somehow very calmly placed it on the floor. The next few minutes consisted of me running the bathroom, deciding which hand was worse and trying to stop the bleeding on that hand while the other one bled over everything, and wrapping my hand in a washcloth and holding it above my head while sitting on the edge of my bathtub because standing didn't seem like such a good idea at the time.
Once I was able to get the bleeding under control, I began to think about how my circa 1960s thrift store mirror had just sliced 70% of my fingers open and that the last time I had a tetanus shot was nearly 11 years ago. So then I drug my sweaty, dirty, pseudo bandaged self to the Urgent Care where the last thing the nurse asked me before he left the room was, "So, have you ever had stitches before?" Then a very nice PA came in and asked me what happened, interjected, "Pinterest project gone wrong?", told me I did not, in fact, need stitches, asked me what thrift stores I go to because she wants to get into thrifting, and then gave me a TD booster. So, $190 later, my fingers were bandaged up and I was not going to get tetanus or diphtheria. You know, in case I decide to go on the Oregon Trail anytime soon.
I came home tired and defeated and quite scornful towards the mirror. Mr. Finding Treasures came home shortly after, asked if I was okay, and then said, "I leave the house for a few hours..." Then he decided we could not, in fact, never ever touch the mirror again and put the glass back in the frame for me and I then used my thumbs and pinky fingers to screw back in the 87 Phillips screws. I was not, at this point, in the mood to attempt to put the two flat head screws back in, so I made the executive to just throw them away. Then I propped the wretched thing up against the wall in my dining room and it's still sitting there today because I basically refuse to touch it ever again. I have since come up with a new plan for the wall space above the buffet because there is no way on God's green Earth I am putting this up on my wall to scorn and mock me everyday.
So, the moral of this story, kids, is to wear gloves or some type of protective armor whilst dealing with mirrors, glass, or any other such substrate which has the potential to actually remove your extremities from your body. And if you're going to be finding treasures, it's probably a good idea to have an up to date tetanus booster anyway. Otherwise you, too, will have a mirror sitting on your dining room floor mocking you everyday as you pass by it.
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