The rips and holes in my last remaining pair of vinyl gloves were letting in peanut butter as I continued to smear it, by hand, on the side of my neighbor's house. At that point I asked myself, "Has this gotten too weird?"

It all started about a year ago. Way back then, our neighbor from up the street, a kindly English widow who had been a friend of the family since before I was born, had asked if I could stain her deck. I accepted (yes, there was payment involved) and gathered two fellas’ from my New Hampshire posse (which, incidentally, consists entirely of two people) and we applied the stain to the deck on one hot Saturday afternoon. We then split the earnings between us. Pretty efficient if you ask me.

However, like a complete moron, I had followed directions found on the internet. The directions came from what seemed to be a legitimate home improvement site. It’s not like one day I got an e-mail saying, “Stain a deck and enlarge your penis!” However, their advice to “Apply thinly,” was not followed, as it should have been, by “…in several coats over a period of a few days.”

The end result, though not awful, was splotchy, runny, and began showing wear and tear even before the first snowfall.

Fast forward to Easter of this year. The question came up again. “Could you put another coat of stain on the deck this summer?” she asked. I thanked her for saying that without any hint of bitterness, which I wouldn’t have blamed her for. She said she wasn’t bitter at all, and coming from her, I believed it. But if anyone else had said it, I’m sure one of the words in that sentence would have been in italics.

“Could you put another coat of stain on the deck this summer?” (recognizing that I had done the job wrong)

“Could you put another coat of stain on the deck this summer?” (implying that I may have done the job right, but the product was of inferior quality)

“Could you put another coat of stain on the deck this summer?” (insinuating that I had missed the deck entirely)

Once the weather started getting nicer, I gave her a call and declared that on that weekend, we would once again stain the deck, and do it right.

Planning was a little harder this time, especially since two members of my posse were unable to help out that weekend (over the year, posse membership had expanded to three people. I had a huge posse!). In the long run, it didn’t really matter, as we were rained out.

For those of you who aren’t cool kids in the know, deck staining requires about 24-48 hours of dryness beforehand, and 24-48 hours of dryness afterwards. Well, New Hampshire was having a wet season. Plans were made and broken as spontaneous rainstorms broke out right before or right after staining was to take place. Weeks went by as the weather changed hourly, ultimately leading to rain every time. Coordinating things with my posse got awkward. Calling each friend every single weekend and asking them if they wanted to plan on spending a Saturday or Sunday working on staining a deck was wearing on my conscience. I couldn’t rightfully continue doing it; it was inconvenient for them, and I’m sure I was beginning to annoy the hell out of them. Had I been in their shoes, I would have punched me by now.

Ultimately, I would end up doing it on my own, but that wouldn’t be for several months yet. It was late July when my neighbor left for a weeklong vacation. I told her that I would stain the deck while she was gone (intending to work on it every night after work).

Getting anything done in the span of three hours each night before sundown was progressing slowly. I was getting tired and careless, missing spots and forgetting to put away equipment on some nights. And, of course, some nights it rained.

A day or two after she got back, the deck was roughly 80% finished. I came over one evening to continue my work when she mentioned the masking tape I had forgotten to remove from the siding near the wood planks. I peeled it off to discover that the heat had baked the adhesive onto the siding. We investigated various household solvents only to find that they were all bad for siding. In desperation, I called the Mr. Wizard of home repair, my father.

“Peanut butter,” he said. “That should do it.”

And that’s how I got to smearing peanut butter on the corners of my neighbor’s house. And for the record, it worked really well.

I managed to finish that day, and I must say that it looks remarkably better than last time. With any luck, it would stay that way for at least two more years. I felt happy with the end result, and having the hard work finally finished. The house’s owner came outside and told me she was very pleased with the job I did, while her dog began furiously licking the siding.

Wait... if the internet was wrong about this… what if it’s wrong about adding three to six inches to my penis? I’ve already ordered the kit! Oh no!