I could sub-title this post “Why My Contractor Wants to Kill Me” but that seemed too wordy. I think the urge started somewhere around the time I asked him to grind out the grout between the tiles on half the kitchen floor because it dried way lighter than we expected it to. That makes me sound like one of those people, I know.
I told you already that we have a new house. It’s a great house: well-built, in a great neighborhood with enough space for all of us. Did I mention that it has all of its original finishes? Which is great, if your house was built in, say, 1930. This house was built sometime in the 90’s when vaguely Colonial pink and blue wallpaper was evidently all the rage. It’s got the original vinyl flooring! I wish I had taken a picture of the 75-pound chrome microwave that I’m sure was among the first 5 ever built. This is all just a long way of saying the house is in desperate need of an update. Especially in the kitchen.