There's a commercial I've seen on HGTV, where a woman asks a snooty and supposedly world-reknowned architect to design a house around a faucet. I now understand her motivation: she installed the faucet herself!
That's right, folks. I, Momma, installed that there faucet myself. The snail-like pace of the kitchen designer and the insistence of money on flowing out faster than it comes in both suggested that the upstairs bathrooms weren't going to be redone anywhere near as soon as we had initially--naively--hoped.
So, annoyed with the tiny faucets that stood about 1 inch above the top of the sink and barely dribbled onto the edge of the pan, I, Momma, had the idea that I should just go ahead and replace the incompetent faucet.
I, Momma, went down to the big box store, where I bought myself a box o' faucet.
And I, Momma, read the directions, and replaced the faucet, even though they said to use the plumber's putty according to manufacturer's directions, but my plumber's putty had no such directions.
That is one gorgeous faucet. I'm not sure where I got the idea that replacing a faucet required so much training that it was beyond all hope of ever accomplishing in my lifetime. It wasn't--but you wouldn't know that from how proud I am of my faucet.
Now I'm thinking about heading down to the big box store and buying myself a sledgehammer, some 2x4s and a bit o' drywall.
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