Adventures in Power Washing (or, Trust Me, This Is Going to Be Great. No Need to Be Concerned for My Safety or Belongings or Security Deposit.)

Things I'm learning about myself as I get older:

1) My palate changes often. I should try and re-try foods, because even if I think I don't like them, I might change my mind. Thanks for your patience while I came around, olives and avocados and iced tea. #truelovewaits

2) I'm competitive.* I'm still sort of processing this one. Because while I've long attempted to construct my self-image as perennially laid back with no interest in trivial designations like "winner" or "league champion," last summer's kickball season reeeally gave some evidence to the contrary. Adrenaline rushed. Teeth came out. Scars were earned. (I know this blog is about patios, but what if we took a stroll down Gender Unpacking Lane and reflected upon how we as a culture have equated competitive women with unkind women? Eff that! Ergo, WATCH OUT, other kickball teams. This lady just lost her apology for wanting to win. Every game. By a sizable, sizable margin.)

*Diana, you can stop laughing at how I could've possibly ever perceived myself differently.

3) I want things the way I want them. Now, I frequently give 0 shits regarding what is for dinner, what I am wearing, what the evening's activities are. But then there are times when I get ideas. Ideas that haunt me. When I get stubborn and determined and can't go back from an imagined course of action. (Just call me W. Actually don't.)

Enter the Power Washer.

This idea came to me through a secondhand copy of Martha Stewart Living. You know, just a standard Martha's Calendar page:

...March 6th: Prepare for houseguests at my Umpteenthgazilliondollar Property...
...March 10th: Give a celebrity guest the stinkeye on my show because he's frosting his cake incorrectly...
...March 15th: Hand-emboss new saddles made from organic grass-fed leather for my horses...
...March 22nd: Power wash the patio.

Oh! Oh.

There it is.

It was like the skies opened up and I heard choruses. From that moment, my view of power washing was completely distorted renewed. Yeah, they're big and noisy and the subject of commercials where men destroy entire outdoor dining sets while their partners hold their heads in disdain and wonder why they ever chose to cohabitate with such a galactic idiot. But MARTHA can do it. Therefore I can do it.

              "Not wash, POWER wash!"           "I want a divorce."

(Question of the day: Do YOU think Martha personally power washes her outdoor spaces? Touche. This just occurred to me while writing this but I've already been fantasizing about this for too long (see point #3) and as you'll see in just a moment it's a little late to second guess this plan. Kisses, W.)

So, with whom did I share this newly hatched brain child? My loving partner, of course! Who respectfully shot it down, citing actual "experience" with "using" a power washer, and concern about its "necessity" in this situation and also my ability to "not destroy things or cause grave bodily harm to myself or others."

...

So when he went golfing I accidentally arrived at the special orders desk of Ace Hardware and tripped, fell, and purchased a little power washer. Just a baby one.

I have to say, he took it like a champ. So either he trusts that I can, you know, not break windows, or is graciously going to let me learn this lesson the hard way.

In all honesty, I've read reviews by folks online who attested that they could use this bad boy even though they'd never power washed before, and I think it will make a big difference in the appearance of the patio. This weekend will lend itself to assembling the thing (first glance at the instructions involves the phrase "spray gun" so clearly this will be awesome) and then trying to contain my glee as I undo the stains of our 6-months-late fall cleanup effort.

EEEEeeee! Updates to follow. Provided I'm not in the emergency room.