We just had our master bath remodeled. We were going to do it a year or two after we moved in, leaving that particular room, our own personal bathroom, without baseboard and curling linoleum until we could catch our breath after the major renovation push we endured when we first moved in. You can read all about that adventure, which first aired on September 19, 2012, right here:Refreshing Refurbishment.
Apparently one year turns into nine real easy around here.
My lovely wife had been talking about redoing it for a while now, and then when an erstwhile contractor with reasonable credentials entered our world late last year it was pull the trigger time.
My lovely wife poured through hundreds of thousands of decorating books and magazines to come up with her vision of the perfect, lovely powder room. She discussed them at length with Mr. Erstwhile and a plan developed. Measurements were made. Tile was procured. As were plumbing apparatus, mirrors, and a whole lot of this and that.
As you many of you long time readers know by now, the indoor decorating arena around here is entirely hers. I gave that up early on when it was apparent she wasn't into cowboys, unicorns or velvet nudes. She has uncompromising cat class, impeccable taste and understated elegance within every whim of her design imagination and vision. Why on earth would I want to meddle with that?
Mr. Erstwhile was going to start right after the first of the year. He has been known to not entirely be that punctual, but his work was quality and his rates good. Every couple weeks she'd touch base with him and he'd say he was still on a job and it would be two more weeks. This went on until June.
Then he gave her a real firm start date, which he missed again because he had to fly to Oklahoma for a job interview.
Well, right there we knew we'd lost him. We knew whoever was interviewing him was going to throw gobs of money at him and of course relay how much cheaper the cost of living was. There, in Oklahoma. Which they did. And of course, he bit, hook, line and sinker. The stinker.
Then the asshole actually had the audacity to refer another flake to us. The guy never called, my lovely wife had to call him. Twice. And then he missed the first appointment.
Flakes of a feather...
Through another much more realistic friend referral we landed on another local contractor, Brian Childers, who we would refer to anyone out there for a similar type smaller type job. Brian is our age, you know, older, and prefers jobs that only last four to six weeks.
He ended up doing a fabulous job, but initially I had to deal with a little dodge and stray attempt on his part. After he took the job with relatively strict time perimeters he started hedging with my lovely wife that maybe we should wait and that he might not be able to make the deadline. Something about the plumber...
Now I had pretty much kept myself out of the bathroom loop. I got plenty of stuff to do. Don't need to go there. I like curly linoleum. But my lovely wife asked me to engage. She is just, quite simply, too nice. Whereas I have an innate ability to turn into a perfectly belligerent asshole if necessary.
I'd have given Mr. Erstwhile Homeboy six weeks, not six months. And we wouldn't have been up against such a deadline. Sigh, details.
In a brief phone conversation I stated to Brian that, "our deadline was not flexible, and that when we signed the paperwork in our living room he stated he would have no problem meeting that deadline. That's why we were paying him a few hundred dollars more than the other guy..."
The simple reminder of that conversation was all that was needed.
He jumped on it, figured out the plumber snafu and the project could not have gone smoother. He actually came in a week ahead of schedule, which never happens in the construction world. And the bathroom is perfect, much to my lovely wife's delight.
It's taking me some time to get used to the fancy new room. We used to have a tile shower that would fit two comfortably. And right in front of that was a large, sunken but single tub. The grand kids have been using that tub for almost a decade. That cast iron monolith is now gone.
Brian had to saw it into three pieces so he could get it out of here. Apparently it weighed almost as much as a Volkswagen.
So that entire tub and shower space has now been replaced with a showpiece tile shower with two massive heads. Where two people could have showered before, now an entire men's rugby team can.
Or women's softball team. Your choice.
And then there's the toilet. I'm still scared of it.
A couple years ago we spent a long five day weekend at The Landing Resort and Spa at South Shore Tahoe. You can read all about that right here: Another Lake Tahoe Offensive.
If you do read that post you'll note I made a note about the fancy, heated toilet seat. My lovely wife loved that, especially with the snowy cold in an early Tahoe November. So that became necessary. And since she was going with that option, why not get a few more? And then when Lowe's messed up the order, they upgraded the darn thing.
How do you upgrade a heated seat, bidet squirting, odor hiding talking toilet?
Get one with a remote control.
So you can flush it from the living room I guess.
I had a big chance to give it a try very, very recently. It was that special colonospic time of my life that happens every five or so years once you turn fifty. You know, when you get to start prepping and cleaning the night before to get your back side probed the next morning.
They make you drink this gawd awful stuff that takes about two and a half hours to get rolling. It begins with gas and bloating, but once it gets rolling that damn whoosh train keeps powering down the tracks, if you know what I mean.
Then after your SECOND prep at four in the fucking morning, there's no gas or bloating because there's nothing left inside you. I think my kidneys were even gone. So instead you start squirting crystal clear seltzer water. Out your backside. At four in the morning!
I shoulda used the gosh darn fancy toilet and then I could have had something squirt back at me. Start a little contest, for early morning amusement only, of course. But I didn't. It still scares me.
One of these days I'll get brave and give it a try. Until then I'll continue to wander down the hall to the guest bath. There's an old fashioned toilet in there that doesn't talk to you and doesn't require reading a manual before operating. It's just got a handle that goes up and down, and I can handle that.
