Ways to Plan a House Makeover Without Going CrazyFive Renovation Projects That Quickly Boost Your Home's First Impression 40
That tap wasn't even completely busted. Just temperamental. You had to twist it a bit sideways and then back into position to get usable water. If you messed up the angle, it'd let out a weird sound. Not deafening, but sharp — like a dying violin. I lived with it for years. Blamed the plumbing. Blamed the setup. Blamed everything except myself.
One Tuesday, I was home by accident, waiting for the pasta water to boil, and it hit me: I can't stand this setup.
It wasn't a breakdown. More like a background noise that had finally forced its way to the surface. The cabinet handles jiggled, the bench was barely usable, and the cupboard door slammed my face every time I grabbed a bowl. I'd started to brace like it was a reflex.
I pulled out a notebook and wrote “replace kitchen faucet” at the top. Beneath that: “actual counter space,” then “this wiring makes no sense” The question mark wasn't a joke. The switch really was behind the fridge.
I told myself I'd keep it simple. Just swap out the tap. Easy. But standing in the aisle of chaos three days later, being stared at by brushed nickel options, I somehow ended up with a brochure for splashbacks under my arm. And then came the point of no return.
I didn't hire a pro. I probably should've. Instead, I borrowed a sledgehammer from my friend Rory, who told me to "be careful-ish" Not exactly the OSHA standard, but I ran with it.
Taking down that ugly shelf felt like a rebellion. Against what? I'm not totally sure. Maybe the version of me that lived with forehead bruises.
The journey spiraled. Not badly, just... as you'd expect. I spent three hours googling “do I need primer?”. Got into a minor argument with a guy on a Facebook group about epoxy grout. I still don't really trust epoxy, but I'm website convinced he was full of it.
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 a showroom. The tile near the bin's crooked, and the outlet by the toaster wobbles. But when I step in, I don't brace. That alone is enough.
And that notebook? Still on the bench. Nothing new written. Which, honestly, says a lot.