A few months ago, I wrote that a couple of tiles had fallen off the shower wall and into the tub. I knew that there could only be bad experiences ahead so I did my best to ignore the situation and procrastinate as long as possible.
After weighing the options I phoned the folks that advertise that in one day they can put a new tub over your old one and make the room look like new.
The price they gave me seemed high but then the salesman flipped to Tab 5 in his binder and showed me the costs of replacing the tub and wall and plumbing.
He ended with the phrase, “Unless of course you can do all the labour yourself.”
A quick scene flashed before my eyes that showed scattered tools, holes in the wall, water everywhere and trips to the emergency ward.
I have a friend who is a plumber but he moved to Hollywood to start his own business. The first week he was open he fixed Farrah’s Fawcett and unplugged Olivia Newton’s John.
I knew the salesman was right and I laid down the cash. It was a good move, the job got done, everything looks good and works great and unlike my own work, his work comes with a guarantee.
When I was showing it off, I heard the ominous question, “Well, now that you have a nice new white tub and toilet, you’re not keeping that avocado green sink are you?” Will my hands get cleaner in a white sink? I don’t think so.
But it was no use arguing, so out came the sink but of course the old green vanity top wouldn’t match so I should get something that was going to work with the walls and the new floor. What new floor?
It all got done and again, it looked great and I was glad I had spent the time and money.
Until I heard, “You need a new shower curtain and window curtains and some towels and face clothes to replace the old ones and accent the new colours.”
It was a rainy Saturday and the only sports on TV were curling, figure skating and tennis so I trailed along through the home decorating stores. I was the only male in a sea of young women in yoga pants pushing buggies or strollers.
When I exclaimed, “Seventy dollars for a shower curtain,” or “You mean to tell me one towel costs $40?” I was drawing attention, so I was hustled out and settled on items from some less expensive department stores. You can’t tell me a $40 towel dries better than one for less than $10.
So, it’s finished.
But last week when I was emptying the garbage can under the kitchen sink, I noticed a small puddle of water. I wiped it up and closed the cupboard door.
Sometimes it’s just best to pretend you didn’t see something.
At least that’s what McGregor says.