Home Makeover Mistakes You'll Hate — and Fix ThemThe Surprising Price Tag of Renovating Your Full House 80
The tap wasn't even technically malfunctioning. Just annoying. You had to nudge it slightly left and then back into position to get non-freezing water. If you turned it too fast, it'd let out a weird sound. Not aggressive, but sharp — like a kettle screaming. I let it go for too long. Blamed the system. Blamed the apartment. Blamed everything except myself.
One rainy evening, I was home early, waiting for the pasta water to boil, and it hit me: I am tired of this space.
It wasn't a breakdown. More like a slow itch that had finally forced its way to the surface. The drawers were loose, the bench was basically decorative, and the cupboard door slammed my face every time I bent down. 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: “longer bench,” then “why is it behind the fridge?” The question mark wasn't sarcastic. The switch really was hidden like a prank.
I told myself I'd just fix that one thing. Just swap cosyhomepro.com out the tap. Easy. But standing in the hardware store three days later, being stared at by brushed nickel options, I somehow ended up with tile samples under my arm. And then came the mess.
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 ran with it.
Taking down that top unit felt like a win. Against what? I'm not totally sure. Maybe the version of me that tolerated nonsense.
The journey spiraled. Not into madness, just... naturally. I spent three hours reading reviews about adhesive. Got into a minor spat with a guy on a Facebook group about epoxy grout. I still don't really understand epoxy, but I'm convinced he was full of it.
And the new tap? Still makes a sound. Different sound now. Softer. Almost charming. I think I like it. Or maybe I've given up.
It's not magazine-worthy. The tile near the bin's not square, and the outlet by the toaster feels off-balance. But when I stand there, I don't feel dread. That alone is enough.
And that notebook? Still on the bench. Nothing new written. Which, honestly, says a lot.