A very long time ago, my mother decided to paint our living room. In Ohio, in July. If you aren't from the Midwest, let me just inform you that July in Ohio is hot and dripping with humidity. I was 19, home from my frosh year of college, and sitting on a couch fanning myself and watching Mom paint.
Because I was a smart-ass, I was also keeping up a running commentary on how totally insane it was to be painting at that moment. Which, looking back now from the vantage point of parenthood, must have been unbelievably annoying. So my mom tried to be all tricky.
"This is really kind of fun! And you have to admit it looks a million times better. But I really don't know if I should even let you do this -- you'd probably make a mistake."
I sat there in disbelief for a moment. Then I started to laugh.
"Mom, I read 'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer' in elementary school. No way are you fooling me with the reverse psychology! But you really are cute trying to get me to whitewash your fence for you."
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