The early morning was consumed with research. Disconnect here, putty there, reconnect there. Simple. This brought forth the (misguided) conclusion that, “This’ll be easy. Two hours tops.”

On the table sat a glistening, stainless steel icon of newness that would soon replace the avocado hued nightmare spawn of 1971. So horrible was this monster from the era of fake, cheap, dark wood paneling and wall to wall shag carpet (in the kitchen), that to drop a glass into it’s foul depths – from only an inch away – was to find yourself vacuuming 50,000 tiny shards from every nearby surface. It’s replacement with this shining, modern sink and faucet was a further step toward the glorious light of a clean and usable kitchen so longed for since moving in.

French toast and coffee consumed, tools rounded up, (indispensable) father-in-law help enlisted, we set about the task at hand. Like I said, it was going to be fast and easy. The fact that I had never dealt with any kind of plumbing ever in my life was of no consequence.

Six and a half hours of gut busting labor, at least three (unnecessary) head-to-pipe-contact induced, expletive laden psycho freak-outs, a trip to home improvement purgatory and much expended brute force later, the hideous, glass destroying emblem of bad design was, at last, exiled to the trash heap. In it's place now sits the gleaming silver catalyst for the reconstruction of the kitchen. It even works.