Do you know what can make me go from absolutely fine to insanely crazed faster than you can blink?

“You just need to relax.”

It doesn’t matter who says it either – my husband, my dad, my friends, my kids, etc. If you’re in the mood for a fight, then just go ahead…….

Who said it this time? Let me backtrack a bit.

My sweet husband bought me a coupon from Living Social for a 3-hour art class. You see, I had a painting that’s been half done for about a year and it’s been haunting me (and others, apparently). Since I’m not a trained artist (I’ve created a total of 2.5 paintings in my entire life), I got stuck and couldn’t move forward. Simple as that.

I finally decided to go to this instructor to see if I could be helped (wait, I know I can’t be helped, but maybe my painting can). How did it go? Just let me say that I’d rather have hot pokers stuck in my eyes than go back to that class.

Let me give you some samples:

“Um, are you happy with your sky?” {He was subliminally trying to get me to say, “No, I’m not.”}

Yes, I LOVE my sky.

“You know, I offer classes on just mixing paints and brush techniques.”

Really? Well you can kiss my ass. It’s not rocket science and I think my mixing is just fine.

“Don’t be so rough with the brush. You want long smooth strokes.”

Again, kiss my ass.

“You just need to relax. Painting should be fun.”

Aaaarrrghhhhhh! Did you just say, “Relax?”  You want me to RELAX? Then quit sitting across from me staring at me haphazardly mixing my paints and roughly smacking the canvas with my paint brush!!!!

{Shit, has it really only been 45 minutes?}

“I absolutely don’t let anyone paint flowers for their first painting.”

Huh? I didn’t realize this was a dictatorship.

“You need to add more black.”

Got it.

“You need to add more black.”

I heard you the first time.

Do you really like oils?

Yes, I like how you can smoosh (It’s a painting term. Look it up.) the colors together. {Clearly oils are wrong and acrylics are right.}

Meanwhile, in between his blurts stated above, he shows us another one of his paintings (ooh, aah), visits the three other painters-in-training and murmurs helpful hints. Then, one of these murmurs catches my attention.

Artiste: “Would you like a glass of wine? There’s only enough for one glass.”

Huh? What about the one that needs to relax?

Mrs. Flirty (sitting behind me): “Sure.”

Then, I hear, “How did you end up in the Midwest?”

It’s a legitimate question. I mean how could a bunch of unrefined, dumb hicks ever appreciate his sheer acrylic brilliance? They don’t even offer Art Appreciation class in Indiana anymore because we all flunked it. There is an ugly rumor circulating that all the cool stuff hits the coasts first and then eventually trickles inward to us poor Midwesterners. I personally don’t think that’s true. I just heard a new band on the radio – Hootie & the Blowfish. Ever heard of them? They. Are. Awesome!

It continued:

Mrs. Flirty:  “You should be in New York or an artist colony somewhere.”

Artiste:  “Blame it on the wife (wives can be such bitches!). She wanted to live in the Midwest so we moved here.

Wow. Wow. Wow. When is this class going to end?

When I finally got home, I was so wound up that Mike was confused (because I was supposed to be relaxing) and then eventually amused by my irritation.

The only true bright spot during the entire ordeal occurred at the end of class. The sweet 14-year-old student sitting next to me looked at my painting and said, “Wow, your painting is way cooler than the actual picture.” Take that, Artiste!