We’re Not Gonna Take It

Funny how music can change a mood, isn’t it?  About four years ago, we were trying to figure out whether we wanted to stay in our house or sell it an buy something else.  The house we had was my husband’s before we married, and he had actually lived there with his ex-wife when they were together, so it was never really “our” house if you know what I mean.  It was a nice house, though, and we didn’t owe a lot of money on it since we had refinanced it for 15 years and were into that about 2 years at the time.  But, it just didn’t feel like it was mine, and that was something I didn’t think I wanted to deal with forever.

One day, after we had decided that we wanted to do something to at least renovate the place, we were painting the front bathroom.  This bathroom was so ugly that I can’t even describe it, so I’ve posted a photo instead:

We called it the Marti Gras bathroom, since it had all the relevant colors – yellow, purple, green, and white.  No, none of it matched.  Yes, I desperately hated it.  Yes, we changed it.  How we started, though, was a different story.

I was willing to live with the yellow tub.  It was one of those old-fashioned tubs, metal with epoxy, that was in great shape.  To take it out would have meant making drastic changes to the space.  The yellow, cracked countertop with the lovely green and white cabinets, however, were going away.  They were so hideous that I couldn’t even begin to tell you how hideous they were, thus the photo.

One day, while I was trying to repair the wallpaper border above the sink, I decided that I just couldn’t take it anymore.  The purple and green rose border was ugly, the yellow countertop hurt my eyes, and the white accents just made the ugliness even more prominent.

I was listening to my iPod, mostly 80s rock and such.  Then, my husband’s ex-wife called about the kids.

As it happened, the song, “We’re Not Gonna Take It”, came on my iPod.  It was at that moment that my sanity broke and I went for the hammer.

I ungently removed the ugly rose wall plates for the electrical outlets and light switches.  I strode effortlessly to the garage, out to the rock/concrete driveway.  I gingerly placed the plates on the ground.  I gently bashed the ever-living hell out of them with my hammer, sending the shards miles away (or so I hoped).  I was wearing my safety goggles and gloves.  I certainly didn’t want a trip to the hospital as the explanation would be quite embarrassing.

That’s where our house renovations started.  We ended up repainting nearly the whole house, removing about 3 square miles of wallpaper, and replacing old linoleum with new tile floors.  We sold that house in a down market for a high price.  I like to think that it’s all due to a 1980s rock ballad by a hair band that, to this day, makes me smile.

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