I remodeled a bathroom last fall, which came as a surprise to everyone.  This is an afterthought sort of bathroom, hidden in a corner of the house, tiny and (for the most part) unnecessary.  It wasn’t on my list of things to remodel.

Because, of course, no such list exists, nor would I allow it to.  I’ve always suspected that remodeling around the house would involve bending and tools, neither of which comes naturally.

But I was in a mood, a little restless and maybe foolishly optimistic, so I started slowly and then just did it.  It was perfect for a novice, too; small and unused except by me, ideal for a little home improvement experimentation, no one else would have cared or even noticed if one day I came out, covered with dust and sort of wet, and announced:

“NO ONE GO IN THERE.  EVER.”

I mean.  I’ve probably said that before, anyway.

As it turned out, there was a happy ending.  Over a couple of weeks I transformed that little area into a workable bathroom, admired by all.  My wife helped; in fact, we made it sort of a marriage project, which came in handy when we had toilet issues.  I’m not comfortable with plumbing.  It’s a thing.

And when my wife, who actually enjoys plumbing, was trying persuade that ancient toilet to do what toilets should, flush and stop flushing, she asked for my help in loosening a stubborn bolt.  Bolt loosening I can do, usually, although this one was tough, and as I was negotiating with it I realized that this toilet was one of those portable ones.  Apparently not attached by any seal or hardware to the floor.

I tested this theory, and I was correct; I could move it to the other side of the bathroom, in fact, which seemed wrong.  Even with my limited plumbing knowledge, I was pretty sure toilets were supposed to stay in one place, and not just sit over a hole in the floor. 

Still, that appeared to be the situation.  And I’ll admit that I was tempted to access my inner 6 year old who breaks a plate and shoves it under the couch; I really wanted to move that toilet back to where it belonged and not tell anyone.

But I did the grownup thing, actually installed a new toilet (easier than I thought), and now I have this nice bathroom.  New floor, new paint, new toilet.  I’m still the only one who uses it, but you never know.  It’s ready, just in case.

And now I have my own shower, all mine, ready for showering at a moment’s notice.  It comes equipped with a prehistoric shower massage thing, a shaving mirror, and all of my various beauty products, which are limited, of course. 

There’s some shampoo.  Soap.  A tube of some stuff that I’m supposed to scrub my face with to help with dry skin, which I sometimes do when I think about it.  This is at the urging of my wife, my daughter and my doctor, all of whom are female people and seem to be concerned about my skin.

I might be playing uncomfortably with gender stereotypes here.  Still, when I imagine visiting a male doctor and bringing this up, I always envision a different scenario:

ME:  I have this really dry skin.

DOCTOR:  Right.  So, any chest pain?

My skin is really OK now.  Don’t worry.

And on the door of this brand new bathroom hangs my New Year’s resolution.  You have to keep them somewhere.

A Christmas present, a nice pair of pants my wife bought me and which, as it turned out, don’t fit.  She had this crazy idea of taking them back to the store for a larger size, but I sensed a new remodeling project just waiting. 

It’s all my fault.  A lazy Fall, bathroom aside.  Sort of gloomy and sedentary, helped by lots of sugar and fat.  Mr. Chuck has gotten a little flabby.  Nothing serious, but I really like those pants and suddenly I had inspiration.  Maybe it would help if you pictured me standing at a podium, my voice ringing out in JFK fashion:

“Our goal… is to send one side of these slacks to meet the other side, and return it safely to Earth.”

It helps that these pants hang there, mocking me when I step out of the shower, smirking and sarcastic as I dry off.  “You WISH,” they say.

So I’m all set.  A new bathroom.  A new year.  A new goal and a new pair of pants, which I intend to be wearing by March, all snazzy and with moist skin. 

And with a slightly used toilet in the basement, awaiting a trip to the dump, a reminder that “remodel” isn’t a dirty word, change is healthy, and when it comes to plumbing some things are supposed to stay put.