Ten Reasons It's Finally Time to Remodel Your HomeTop 10 Indications It is the Right Time to Remodel Your House 87
That tap wasn't even completely busted. Just annoying. You had to nudge it a bit sideways and then back into position to get warm water. If you turned it too fast, it'd shriek. Not loud, but sharp — like a rusty hinge with opinions. I let it go for far longer than I should've. Blamed the pipes. Blamed the building. Blamed everything except the fact that I hadn't done anything.
One rainy evening, I was home before dark, waiting for the pasta water to boil, and it hit me: I am tired of this space.
It wasn't a rage fit. More like a feeling that had finally forced its way to the surface. The cutlery tray slid around, the bench was too short, and the top cabinet door was my arch nemesis every time I bent down. I'd started to duck by instinct.
I pulled out a scrap of paper and wrote “replace kitchen faucet” at the top. Beneath that: “longer bench,” then “move light switch?” The question mark wasn't a joke. The switch really was behind the fridge.
I told myself I'd just fix that one thing. Just swap out the tap. Easy. But standing in the plumbing section three days later, confused by finishes, I somehow ended up with a brochure for splashbacks under my arm. And then came the demolition.
I didn't call a tradesperson. I probably should've. Instead, I got a drill from a mate from my friend Rory, who told me to "be careful-ish" Not exactly the OSHA standard, but I ran with it.
Taking down that upper cabinet felt like a win. Against what? I'm not totally sure. Maybe the version of me that lived with forehead bruises.
The chaos spiraled. Not in a disaster way, just... inevitably. I spent three hours reading reviews about adhesive. Got into a minor debate with a guy on a Reddit thread about silicone gaps. I still don't really get epoxy, but I'm convinced he was wrong.
And the new tap? Still squeaks. Different sound now. Softer. Almost charming. I think I like it. Or maybe I've learned to live with it.
It's not magazine-worthy. The tile near the bin's slanted, and the outlet by the toaster feels off-balance. But when I stand there, I don't duck. That alone is something.
And that notebook? Still on the bench. Nothing new written. Which, honestly, says a check here lot.