Just a Little Toxic

Avocado is decorating her room. The centerpiece, as it were, is a mural on the ceiling, which she is painting in spray paints (actually, she's just laying down the base; friends with slightly more skill are going to do the details). She is going through many cans of professional grade artists' spray paint, which, lemme tell you, is just as noxious as ordinary buy-it-at-Home-Despot spray paint. We are concerned about her sitting in the attic for hour after hour in the stew of chemicals, even with skylight, window, and door all wide open. She regards our concern as quaint.

Last night she and the Spouse had a confrontation about it--he doesn't like her shrugging off his concern as an attempt to control her; she doesn't like his meddling in her life. The argument did keep her out of the room for a good half an hour, though, after which she invited me up to see what she had done. I went up, began to cough, pointed out that the fumes were worse than they had been at any other time so far, and asked her to come down. Perhaps because she'd been away long enough so that she wasn't used to it, she shrugged and came down.

I'm going to get a painter's respirator this afternoon. Yuck. The ceiling is looking cool, though.