Once, my Texas History teacher assigned an elaborate project for our final grade of the semester. We had to assume the role of a pioneer traveling to Texas and document our lives in journaling. It sounded fun, but there was a catch…we had to “antique” every page with coffee or tea.
This is why my friend and I spent our Saturday dripping coffee onto paper and screaming over the sound of the two blow dryers we had running at once. We worked with machine-like precision for an hour, until we realized that our efforts had only “antiqued” three out of the twenty pages.
This is when the stress began.
Be glad that you’ve never seen the kitchen of two girls who know that their average depends on the next few hours. There was coffee everywhere: its sticky scent perfumed the air, giant vats of it sat cooling on the counter, and an inconspicuous coffee spill decorated the floor (which subsequently lead to girlish screams and ruined socks).
Little hints of too-loud music sounded over the wailing blow dryers. Despite the frosty weather, both of us were dusted with a thin sheen of fear-induced sweat. My mom, like the wise woman she is, took one look and retreated to the couch with a weak, “Just make sure you clean it up after, girls.”
Just when we never thought we’d finish, both of us happily parted ways with a neat bundle of toasty brown paper.
In the end, those coffee-filled hours were a pain to clean up, a pointless endeavor, and a blessing for our grades. Our projects turned out to be semi-presentable masterpieces.