Out! Out! Damn!

We didn’t actually intend to rip apart the room. But the old, blown-up stove was only 24” wide, and electric. Who lives like that? So out she goes.

And if we're getting a new gas stove anyway, we might as well go for a 30-incher. That would mean moving the sink, so out it goes. Eh, it needed to be moved anyway, since it wasn’t under the window where a kitchen sink belongs. If we’re calling the plumber in to move the sink, though, we really ought to have him hook up the hand-me-down dishwasher that's been in the basement now for how long?

Plus, as long as we’re moving the sink, we might as well get a new sink. Out. And faucet. Out. And if we’re doing all of that, I want a pig.* That means a new cabinet for under the sink, but it’s only right, seeing as how the bottomless old one is teeming with tetanus and rust. Out.

Now, we can’t very well get a new cabinet for under the sink and leave all the old ones there. Out, out. And the new arrangement of cabinets and sink mean we’ve got to replace the counter. Out. Of course, if we’re ripping everything along that whole wall anyway, it wouldn’t make any sense not to tear the walls down and re-wire. Out, out, out. The electrician’s going to be here anyway, for the dishwasher and the pig. Oh yeah, and the stove.

Well, and if we’re opening the walls we might as well go ahead and replace the window—

NO!

Ahem. That was me.

Well, at this rate we were going to end up working our way round the entire freaking house! I didn’t see any logical stopping-point to all the madness, but I knew we could not afford to let this illogical train keep rolling on. So I threw myself under. Johnny and the entire Outie Show insisted I was crazy-stupid for choosing this of all possible places, but I lay there like a rag doll and refused to move.

New windows did make sense, they were correct. But not in the same way as, say, having a plumber hook up the dishwasher we already owned when he was here anyway to move the sink. People replaced windows all the time without tearing out entire rooms around them, and we could do that, too. Someday. Not now.

And that’s how it’s all my fault we’ve been living two years with a (literally) half-ass kitchen. Me. I was the one. I executive-decided that we would renovate from the floor up to the counter, from the studs out to the blueboard, and from the outside wall around to the doors on either side, but that was it. We could finish it later. Right then all I wanted was my working kitchen back.

Ha.


*Sorry, garbage disposal.