I tempted various people with crow bars and sledge hammers, several different times. But no one would go for it. They would all says something along the lines of, “You know, the entire rest of your house is already a pile of crap. You should probably leave the bathroom alone.” I would be like, “You don’t understand, there is nothing about this that should be left alone! Kill, kill, kill!” No one listened. I refused to go near it for weeks in silent protest. Marc, on the other hand, would waltz right in, sweep out the bathtub, and take a cold shower. He obviously has no morals.
I couldn’t stomach being in there long enough to clean it until there was at least a floor under my feet. Until then, I was just piling tools and junk in there and brushing my teeth on the sly. You know, like it never happened. (I would never actually do this.)
When the marmoleum installer was supposed to come by Boy said, “You really need to clean in there before he gets here.” So I dissembled our collection of screwdrivers, sanding blocks, vent covers, crowbars, and Dutch Bros. cups full of paint stripper. Then I vacuumed the floor, the counter, and the sink. It was the least I could do. After the floor was in I had to bite the bullet and and clean it for reals. It literally took me all day. I had to wire brush all the curling grout. Comet the tub three times. Shop vac giant hairballs out of the drain. Soak everything in bleach. Disinfect the inside of the cabinets. Clean the window and the gobbed up window track. My face actually started cramping up from scowling. I spent the entire next day in the bathroom as well, and went through an entire gallon of paint. I started twitching and my good humor was compounded by the fumes. Way too much quality time.
By the time the paint cured, and I had already gone five days without bathing, I stood in the bathroom and considered taking a bath. I couldn’t do it. I looked at the tub and mentally cringed. Then I started to panic. What was I going to do? How could I take a bath in here? I had already bathed at a friend’s twice. Could I just move in with her? And then it hit me. Showers! I never knew why people took those. Now I do. It’s when your bathtub is too disgusting to sit in. Kind of like camping. It’s what you do when your house is broken. Otherwise it just doesn’t make sense.
The coat of paint did make something of a transformation. But I am still not convinced. Our goal is to redo the bathrooms next year. I’m not sure I can wait that long. Which is why I only painted with latex semi-gloss and not epoxy. I didn’t want to cement my fate. I think to Marc it looks fine. But to me it’s a whitewashed tomb.
Plus, I don’t know if you notice the tile over tile going on in here. My impression is that it was tweekers with a tube of liquid nails. And then some paint, with some nail polish detailing, complete with a fish wall paper border. Cuz nothing says “high” like a little nail polish freehand on the walls.