First thing this morning I told some co-workers that I ran new water lines and put a toilet in the basement. My desire for validation was pathetic. However there was no way I could wait until my new toilet potentially popped-up in normal conversation. It was absolutely imperative that people knew I had earned my Jr. Plumber’s badge.
Yes, work was bad but nothing compared to what Deb had to go through. I practically forced her to adorn me with a laurel leaf crown and the title of Omni-Stud. Actually, when unprovoked Deb said something so incredibly nice that I got a little choked up. I married a woman who deserves hundreds, nay, thousands of new toilets if I could give them to her.
That didn’t sound quite right.
Tapping into my water lines was the final frontier in home improvement for me. Sure, there’s masonry, roofing, exterior siding and major excavation but if the desire isn’t there then it really doesn’t count. The desire to cut into all of those pretty, shiny copper pipes has been with me for years.
The result wasn’t exactly pretty:
But it’s been almost three days now and (knock wood) there have been no drips let alone flooding.
The toilet itself is unimpressive:
All the concrete gives the new stool’s environs a prison-like flavor -- but it’s really all about utility. Aesthetics are for upstairs bathrooms; or people with energy . . . or money.
Allie christened the stool but I’m the one who truly put it through its paces. Deb and the cat are the only ones left in the house who haven’t made their presence known but there still is time. My expectation is that most of my family and friends (particularly those who spend the night at our house) will eventually be building a log cabins, making stink pickles or dropping some friends off at the pool on this new chunk of porcelain.
In a couple of days, if the Apple and FedEx gods smile on me, I will be able to fulfill my dream of blogging while on the crapper. Suffices to say that this new toilet will be the spot from which this historic event takes place.