I'm thankful for paint, without which none of the furniture in our house would match.
From where I sit as I write this, I can see our eBay dining-room table; our Freecycle end tables; our Goodwill mirror; one of three yard-sale bookshelves; and our rescued-from-the-dump TV cabinet. Thanks to paint plus sandpaper, primer and Golden Oak stain, everything goes together pretty well.
I'm lucky to have a mother-in-law who, in addition to many other wonderful qualities, taught me everything I know about faux-finishing furniture (she used to do it professionally). She deserves a big chunk of the credit for my bargain finds' looking better than they ever deserved to look.
Paint (and three coats of polyurethane) makes it impossible to worry about whether anyone's using a coaster. It adds life to a room with little time and even less expense. It's a rare form of immediate gratification in which you can indulge without negative consequences.
I like to spread out my paint-splattered sheets, pull on my paint-splattered clothes and get to work on a new project. I'm thankful that I can do this because painting furniture is one artsy hobby that truly requires no artistic talent.
When baseboards are hopelessly scuffed, there are dead-bug stains on the wall or I'm trying to sell a house that smells like smoke, I'm thankful that there's an easy remedy: paint.
I like paint's knack for bringing out the potential in even the ugliest pieces of furniture -- and the fact that the uglier they start out, the less they cost me. I like the seemingly infinite finishes and colors and combinations, and the way they encourage experimentation. I even like the way paint smells.
And I'm thankful every time I walk into a chic, upscale shop, spot a gorgeous faux-finished buffet and know I could duplicate it for 5 percent of what the store is charging.