My husband and I own a 43-year-old home. Let me educate you on older homes. Unless you've kept the original avocado appliances and insisted to guests that it's really cool to be retro, your home has been rigged as updates were made. My husband calls it jerry rigging. I call it necessity. Take the master bathroom. I decided to peel the stick on mirror off the wall and update the lighting. I bought a framed mirror and new lighting. Then, when I (and Carl, my rented husband) pulled the old parts off the wall, we found a little boo-boo. Whoever (whomever?) put the original lighting in, punched a hole in the wall to run the electrical lighting. But they missed. So then they punched another hole and hung the mirror so it covered up the accidental hole. This was a major problem for me because my new mirror wasn't as big as the old mirror. I could have hired someone to drywall over the damage (Carl don't do drywall), but it wasn't in my budget. The solution was to rest the new lights on top of the new mirror rather than leaving a pretty, proportional, feng shui gap. At some point, a future homeowner is going to take down my mirror and lighting and go, "What the heck?" And then they'll rig it so it's presentable. Mr. G. knows nothing about the bathroom situation because I prefer that he sleeps at night, which then allows me to sleep at night. He wants everything to be pretty and presentable and absolutely perfect.
The other day, we encountered a plumbing problem. I consulted my sister, who told me to consult my mother, who consulted my stepfather and advised me to use an acidic clog clearer that necessitates using gloves. Mr. G. wanted to call a plumber. He said only a professional would know how to properly deal with the problem and I could end up damaging something - or rigging it so it really wasn't fixed. After some argument, I dispatched Mr. G. to Home Depot and then added as he went out the door that he needed to get some gloves. He turned as white as a sheet of paper and said, "Why do we need gloves?" Once he returned, he presented me with the gloves and said, "I got a size that will fit your hands, but they're probably too small for me." Nice. Then Mr. G. read the back of the clog clearer bottle and had to breathe into a paper bag. There was some warning about a possible explosive reaction. I nodded, picked up the bottle and started pouring the contents down the drain without measuring it while Mr. G. fretted about the pipes exploding. It didn't work so I flushed it and opened the cabinet to start taking apart the pipe near the trap. "Hand me a bucket will you," I called to Mr. G. "I don't think you're supposed to touch the pipe after you've poured the clog clearer down the drain. Something could explode," he said, clutching the bucket to his chest and refusing to hand it over. Then Mr. G. - still holding the bucket - went into the next room and started dialing plumbers. Once the plumber arrived, it was explained in great detail that I had poured an explosive liquid down the sink. The plumber nodded and pulled out a bucket. Then, without putting on gloves, he drained the pipe and cleared the clog. And it only cost us was $200. Thank goodness for doing things perfectly.
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