My father (from Illinois) came to court his Pittsburgh sweetheart. He was smitten with her. When my father came to visit, my grandmother painted the kitchen chairs. They were sprucing up the place to impress my father. My father, unbeknownst to him, sat down on the wet paint. When my father went to rest, my grandmother snuck into his room, cleaned the pants and returned them. The family lore is that he never knew he had sat down on the wet paint.