Wet, wet, wet

I used to think home ownership would be grand and I suspect I still do. However, there are times when that philosophy is put to the test.

As you may know, we are in the middle of preparing our house to put on the market. Doing so is quite different from remodeling. The thought process involves a whole different slant: we are trying to get the job done, make the house operational and presentable before passing it off to someone else. The choices you make under this guise are completely different than what you would do when it comes to the place where you plan to make your home for the next 20 years or so. You don't necessarily choose the higher end faucet. You don't go with that bright terracotta paint. Get the idea?

Our biggest challenge thus far is the bathroom, where I understand it is easy to find yourself sinking money. Our bathroom is ancient. What makes it worse is that it was "remodeled" and I use that term very, very loosely. The "remodelers" did more harm than good. And now we are not only fixing what needs fixing, we are undoing what damage they did. In the process, we found a water leak. This scares me more than falling down the stairs and busting open my lip (everyone has a phobia. . . don't go pointing fingers). Water is a silent ninja, striking where you least expect it, creating havoc where you can't see.

Upon discovering this trail of water, we contacted our resident expert on all things home-related, Cynical's dad. He very patiently reviewed the situation, literally looking at it from all angles and was stumped. This only added to our already increasing anxiety. This problem was much more stealth than we realized.

As we all stood in our very, very small bathroom, surrounded by crumbling plaster walls and a green tub, we scratched our heads and decided to call it a day. Our only educated guess at a solution was the replacement of our showerhead.

So, yesterday, after visiting with Cynical's family, we made our way to what I consider the depths of hell: the home improvement store. You see, inside is the realization that we had no idea what we are doing, what we need or even where you start. It's a reminder each time we walk in the door. In addition, I know that it is only the first of several visits for the day. We'll need a gasket we don't have, or plumber's tape we forgot to get or some piece that we hadn't anticipated. It's a pattern.

We waked through the large aisles until we found the plumbing section. Row after row of chrome-colored fixtures, pipes, gaskets, plastic rings and all sorts of stuff that I couldn't identify. We finally spied the showerheads and there we stood, not having any idea what to pick out. If it was for a shower that I'd find myself lathering up in for the next 20 years, I would have wanted the beautiful fancy one that was detachable and had lots of settings. Instead, we came home with a chrome one with two settings. Kinda plain and simple; true to form.

We developed a game plan over lunch, offered up sacrificial two-by-fours and penny nails to the home improvement gods and decided to procrastinate a bit longer with a few other stops.

Once we got home it was the moment of truth. And the two of us used our combined minds and education and managed to get the thing screwed on. And then we held our breath and I hid behind the shower curtain as Cynical christened it. And it worked, it actually worked.

The next test would be morning showers. Leak or no leak. . .

Are you antsy with anticipation. Thus far, no streams of hot water in the basement, on the floor or beside the shower. The sacrifices must have worked.

(And we came to the conclusion that we'd need a contractor to hang all new drywall in our bathroom, frame out a window and install a tub surround. An expensive prospect, but it feels good to at least know we have a plan of action. Let's hope I won't have to sell my body or my soul to pay for this. We won't get much for either.)