Our bathrooms are hideous, so my wife decides we finally need to remodel them.
We go to Home Depot for one of the “You Too Can Install Ceramic Tile” workshops
The guy running the class wants to know what people are planning to do: bathrooms, living areas, kitchens, floors, walls, counters, etc.
Here’s how the exchange goes:
“What are you guys planning on doing?”
(me) Bathroom - floors and wallsWE"RE ONLY GOING TO BE DOING FLOORS
That was my wife. Not yelling, not strident, not even firm or authoritative, but…solidly.
I’m laughing inside, and I glance around. This is what I pick up:
::Uh, guy, I think you’re only going to be doing the floors in tile::
::Poor sonofabitch, I wonder if he really thinks he’s going to do the walls too::
::Pal, quit right now. Don’t fight it, and you might get some input into colors or patterns on the floor. Maybe::
::Nnnoooooooo walls for him::
We decide it’s a go, and start ripping up the old ceramic tile floor in one bathroom. My wife asked me how we should proceed on the way home. I suggest cold chisels first, then move to this “floor hog” tool we bought.
I’m puttering around the house, gathering up the tools and equipment I’ll need. I hear metal striking metal, and realize my wife has started. I peek in. She’s started in the middle of the floor. She has on protective goggles, but she got them from the bottom of a tool box, they’re covered in crap, and to see me she has to tilt her head way back like she’s looking at the ceiling and peer through the quarter-inch clear spot at the very bottom.
She’s not getting too far, apparently decides the cold chisel isn’t cutting it, and just starts beating on the tile with the hammer, like a little kid doing that Whack-A-Mole game. Every so often, she’ll go at it with the cold chisel again. Pretty soon she’s got nice little hole going there. Like something the cats would like to drink out of. I guess she thinks the tile will be softer about two feet that-a-way, so she moves over and starts in there. Cold chisel. Whack-a-mole. Little more cold chisel. Lots more whack-a-mole.
I’ve gathered my tools. I’ve also cleaned my goggles with Windex and rinsed and dried them. I put them on, and hear “Hey, where’s you get them?” I say “same place you got yours, only I cleaned mine”. My wife manages a pathetic “Oh”, and looks a bit crestfallen. “Here, you want these?” She brightens right up. “Boy, what a difference.” Off I go to clean her, er my goggles.
That done, I grab my tools, and start in at the threshold. It’s tough going, and noisy. I decide I need hearing protection. I get the only headphone-style protectors we’ve got. I catch my wife’s eye. “Do you want some hearing protectors?”. “No”, she answers. I shrug, and start in. “Well, maybe” she pipes up. “Where are some?” “There should be some inside-the-ear ones out with my tree climbing stuff, by the chainsaw.” Mind you, this is in the shed out back. She gets up, looks at the shelves of the junk closet, sticks her head into the laundry room where I’ve got tools and pegboards set up, and kind of wanders around a bit. Around me, that is. Then she heads outside, and comes in like ten seconds later, sits down, and starts in with the whack-a-mole again. I’m suspicious. “Did you find some?” “No, I looked everywhere. I guess we don’t have any”.
I used to be a tree surgeon. I had tons of them. We also used to grab handfuls from the MRI at the hospital. I get up, go to the shed, sure enough, none there. I come in, go through a junk drawer or two, Bingo, 1 pack ear plugs. I come down, hand them to her. “Where’d you find these?” “In a drawer. I looked for more than two minutes” “Oh”. "Do you want these, or the headphone ones? “Those”.
I pick up my chisel, draw back for a strike. “These have ear wax on them”. “Yes, they go inside the ear, which often has ear wax in it. They can be washed. Do you want those, or mine?” “Yours”
I finally get to take a few swings with the hammer. Pretty soon I’m getting whole tiles up, and then some. Maybe because I started somewhere besides the geographic center of the floor. “Hey, I wanna get up big chunks like you!” My wife is once again crestfallen. I notice she selected the chisel that’s about the width of a small screwdriver. “Here, try this wider one.” She brightens up immediately. Although the wider chisel doesn’t entirely dampen her enthusiasm for the whack-a-mole game.
After getting a few more tiles up, I grab the “floor hog”. It’s like a huge, wide, angled chisel on a shovel handle. I take a few swipes at the edge of the tile I’ve exposed. Whole sections start coming up. “Oh! Look! Look at that! You get so much up! I wanna do that! Can I do that?” I hand over the tool. She starts at it, gets a few good-sized chunks up. “I’m so thirsty. This makes you so thirsty.”
After I get her a drink…
I do love my wife.
Shaky Jake