It's me vs. the front door, and somebody has to win. Soon. Cross your fingers that it's me, because right now I'm a little concerned...
Yesterday when I joked that instead of three layers of paint on my door there were more like one hundred and three, I was apparently tapping into some unrealized psychic powers. Because really, this is bananas. I feel like eventually I'm going to uncover some amazing fresco from ancient times, and then I'll really be glad that I used the more gentle stripper when I can sell it at auction for a million dollars and buy myself a new door.
I'm still comfortable with my decision to use the Citristrip, since taking my door off in 40°F weather just isn't in the cards, but I'm on my second application of product this morning and I feel like I'm on the edge of a DIY-induced psychotic break. It's not coming off of the detailed areas like it should, even though it looks like it's lifted on the edges, it hasn't really; it's a cruel game the door is playing with my mind. And there's so many little details around the window panes that I might just lose my mind if it doesn't just miraculously start peeling off this afternoon when I check it again.
I glopped (yes, it's a word. Says me.) the stripper on quite liberally this morning, and I just wrapped the entire door in plastic wrap to keep the moisture in longer.
This better work! I've got stuff to do, like getting facials in the name of education and being a chicken farmer. This door is cramping my style and it's about to see what happens when you go up against me in a stubborn contest.