strike two

I am pretty sure this renovation is doomed. At least the bathroom, anyway. We picked up the vanity on Wednesday, and, still scarred by the countertop fiasco, Joe and I were both prepared to inspect every inch of it. But it was all packed in a box, so the best we could do was open the top and look in. All seemed to be in order, even though I paranoidly asked him, “What do we do if there’s a huge scratch down the front or something? Will they take it back?”

Well, today I’ll find out. There’s no scratch, but when Joe and his dad went over last night to make the template for our countertop (a piece of plywood marked with the dimensions and sink and fixture placement; doing it ourselves is saving us a fat $500), they discovered the cabinet is too big. It’s 21 inches deep instead of 18. We couldn’t fit it in the room if we wanted to. Plus, both sides are unfinished, not just the one going against the wall.

At least I still have the receipt with a diagram clearly showing the dimensions we asked for. But still, this is another 3-week minimum delay. Not to mention the stress of doing everything in the bathroom twice. Joe finally told me I could order our tile, but now I’m terrified to. Of course, Roy can’t install the toilet until I do, and our old crapper was downgraded this week from leaking to gone.

So, capping off an evening of cursing and ruing the day we bid on this house was a discussion of where the guys can pee from now on: in the kitchen sink, the new tub, or in the backyard. (Us ladies are wisely boycotting any work at the house until there’s a functional commode.) This just gets better and better.

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