Here is a vexatious moment in the coronavirus community. Many of us, stuck in our homes for unnatural stretching, looked up and went: Ew. Uh! This house is Ew!
The next step was to open Realtor.com and then realize that the Tampa Bay real estate market had turned into an HP Lovecraft monster that feeds on innocent children. The next step was to “fix the place”.
We decided to refinance and renovate our 1950 ranch, which is full of “character” another way of saying “is it mold?” Over the past year, we’ve been fortunate enough to fix things that were in desperate need of it, like whole house redesign. It is the most annoying use of money. No host has ever said, “Take your wine and I’ll show you my new sink tailpiece.” “
After an almost electric fire and 87 deployments of the phrase “Just check in!” With COVID-tired receptionists, we got to the big daddy: two pink bathrooms. I don’t need to explain “pink bathrooms” do I? To emphasize, I will add that one of the walls literally fell.
Years of renovation, television has prepared me. It would be a amusing project! We appeared in jewel-toned sweaters, clutching our mouths. We could cry and say, “This will mean a lot to (a fictional family member with a dramatic story of redemption). “
Several months later we have realized hard truths:
There is no telegenic host.
Even if you have hired labor, you are on your own. Choice of design, budget, learn what a “Schluter” is – you understand.
Every day, buying grout from Floor and Decor, I prayed for a brother on the property. Just a brother of property. He would show up in low rise jeans and undersized flannel and say things like, “Do you want the good news or the bad news?” The bad news is that we only found fettuccine alfredo in the wall, and fettuccine alfredo did not conform to the code. The good news is, I think we can offset the cost by cutting three potted plants from the Big Reveal. Why don’t you go back to the hotel?
There is no hotel.
Wisdom is living life, or what? Our preparations for demolishing the master bathroom consisted of pulling the bed aside and dancing like Michigan J. Frog. It was then that the contractor mentioned the word “uninhabitable”.
On television, people move and live with mysterious benefactors. In the real world, who can just move? In the real world, you drape plastic loosely around your things and sleep on the couch or on a concoction involving an ottoman and a phalanx of cushions. Then you wake up with a start when the team arrives and lights up Journey’s biggest hits.
And there is no Big Reveal.
After shipping delays, rescheduled inspections and exploratory swear words, you’d think the finish would be electrifying. But I don’t even know if I like bathrooms anymore. Objectively, they are beautiful. But I’ve looked at them too much now, like I’m staring directly at the sun.
When Chip and Joanna Gaines lead someone into a room, I imagine an ecstasy of subway tiles and ironic antique bikes. Maybe after the crew have left the owners would like to a magnifying glass where the SCHLUTER meets the drywall and say, “Is our foundation crooked?” But it must be worth it for those happy minutes.
You could laugh
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In conclusion, my home improvement advice is to be on TV. Everything is better there.
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