Remodeling Slip-Ups You'll Regret — and Fix ThemWhat to Focus On Initially When Improving an Aging Home 87

Remodeling Slip-Ups You'll Regret — and Fix ThemWhat to Focus On Initially When Improving an Aging Home 87

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The tap wasn't even broken. Just annoying. You had to nudge it slightly left and then back into position to get non-freezing water. If you went too far, it'd let out a weird sound. Not deafening, but sharp — like a rusty hinge with opinions. I put up with it for years. Blamed the system. Blamed the building. Blamed everything except the fact that I hadn't done anything.

One Tuesday, I was home early, waiting for the pasta water to boil, and it hit me: I can't stand this setup.

It wasn't a moment of clarity. More like a feeling that had finally spread to my ribs. The cutlery tray slid around, the bench was barely usable, and the cupboard door was my arch nemesis every time I opened the dishwasher. I'd started to flinch early.

I pulled out a receipt back and wrote “new tap” at the top. Beneath that: “actual counter space,” then “move light switch?” 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 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 get help. I probably should've. Instead, I borrowed a sledgehammer from my friend Rory, who said, “Don't aim at anything alive.” Not exactly the instruction manual, but I used it anyway.

Taking down that top unit felt like a win. Against what? I'm not totally sure. Maybe the version of me that read more tolerated nonsense.

The journey spiraled. Not badly, just... naturally. I spent three hours googling “do I need primer?”. Got into a minor argument with a guy on a Reddit thread about silicone gaps. I still don't really trust 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 a showroom. The tile near the bin's not square, and the outlet by the toaster feels off-balance. But when I walk in, I don't duck. That alone is a win.

And that notebook? Still on the bench. Nothing new written. Which, honestly, feels good.