I’ve spent the last few days getting acquainted with a ceramic tile floor. On my knees, gently running my hard rubber float at a 45 degree angle across its surface, while forcing the grout into its joints. You see, I’m somewhat of a “handyman.” Emphasis on “somewhat.” During this soon-to-expire year, I’ve joined the millions of people who take it upon themselves to do projects around the house. Tasks which are usually entrusted to experts. Yes, my friends, I am a DIYer. A novice DIYer.
Last year my parents decided to make a few renovations and additions to the house. They hired some “professionals” who didn’t bring the job to completion, and even though most of the work got done, the family room and part of the front terrace didn’t. Getting outside help doesn’t come cheap, and in this dwindling economy, I knew I had to see this through myself and perhaps save some dinero in the process. I knew the skill set required to not screw this up was beyond me.
Needless to say, I avoided this project like the H1N1 virus. After more than a year of watching dust particles squatting where grout should be, I finally have had enough. But if I was ever going to whip these floors into shape, I needed guidance. I needed knowledge. Enlightenment. I needed Chuck Norris. I then remembered I wanted to get these floors done and not destroy them. HGTV and DIY Network became my teachers. I was ready. Confident. Pumped.
It’s been three days since I started this back-breaking adventure. Family room’s almost done. Tiles are looking pretty good. The floor and I have grown quite close. I’m sure we’d be buddies, if it were, you know, a person.
Good afternoon, good evening or good night.