Why? Why did I do it? Redoing my second floor bathroom might be one of the worst decisions I have ever made. It is more than a nightmare. It is an open wound, a festering abscess but worse! It is viral. The extent to which the ill effects have infiltrated even the most remote and exclusive aspects of my life is mind boggling. The venomous tentacles have saturated everything from my pocketbook to my sex life to my newly compromised DNA. It is unbelievable.
You don't have to tell me, I already know: Getting into an old house is looking for trouble. That is why I was prepared for twice as much as I thought it would be, but a BILLION times more?!? Things have spun out of control.
The clincher is that this whole catastrophe is all because we thought we didn't like the way our old bathroom looked. I mean, it was nice enough. It flushed, it soaked, the lights turned on and off. The tub filled right up or if we were so inclined, we could take a nice shower. There were even random tiles with animal scenes on them. Come to think of it, it was one of the nicest bathrooms I have ever seen.
Why did I do it? Where were my handlers?
Rather than showing you pictures of the battle zone I have made a montage of bruises, contuses and lacerations I have accumulated. They tell the story better than I.