What's More Annoying?
Than spending the day painting bedroom window frames and doors with 5 coats of paint starting at dark blue and going to white, while repeating at LEAST 47 times - "DON'T touch the window frames. DON'T touch the doors?"
Give up?
Having a child carrying an arm full of good jeans push the door open -- using the stack of said laundry as a door pusher. That's what.
Edited to Add after 5 comments:
To answer the resounding question of what I did and said -- Well, it was approximately 3:30 pm when this happened. I had not showered today because I knew I was just going to be painting all day until time to leave the house. Seriously. I was picking up a friend at 4 because we were going to a surprise party- so not exactly cool to be late. I was actually getting ready to step into the shower when this happened. Literally - step into the shower. While the offender has not even been able to form the thought "I'm sorry", I am throwing on a gown and heading out to the garage for the paint thinner. I then stand in the garage in only my gown, barefoot and shivering, praying over a pile of denim and hoping my gown was longer than I think. Then I rush them in the house after scrubbing and wash the paint thinner out of them with lots of sudsy water and yet more scrubbing. Finally, I throw them all in the washer, where I stand for another minute or two, debating whether or not my washing machine manufacturer was serious when they put this warning in the lid of the washer. It says
WARNING: TO AVOID THE RISK OF FIRE OR EXPLOSION OR SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION NEVER PLACE ITEMS IN THE WASHER THAT ARE DAMPENED WITH GASOLINE OR OTHER FLAMMABLE FLUIDS. THE FUMES CAN CREATE AN EXPLOSION OR FIRE HAZARD.
I say yet another prayer that I have them washed out good enough, tossed the whole load in there with lots of detergent and made a quick dash for the shower where I find the youthful offender waiting by the now smeared door. Realizing I can't leave the door like that, I make a mad rush to get the paint roller out of the bag I had just wrapped it in, dig the paint tray out of the trash bag, scrounging for the last bit of paint, retouch the paint and wrap the roller back up. While I'm doing this, I hear a repetative, "I'm sorry, I forgot" to which I keep replying, "I know, it's OK, it will be fine." I think we were both in a mild state of shock. Finally I send forgetful child away so I can jump into the shower at 3:50 and still make it 2 miles down the road, arriving 12 minutes later. As I was sharing why my hair was actually dripping water onto my shoulders, my friend asks "how did you get the blood out?" When I asked "what blood?" - she said, "You know, the blood from where you killed her."
And with that - you now know who did it to boot.
Edited again after the jeans were washed with the exception of this one tiny streak, which I must have missed, everything came clean that I scrubbed with paint cleaner - and the stuff I didn't - like Bill's shirt -- well it is now in the trash. 
