I installed a toilet. Now, installing a new toilet isn't typically something to brag about. Hell, it might even be a basic requirement to obtain your "man-card"—I wouldn't know because I don't usually care about those things. But for me, this was a massive deal.
I am not handy. Like, really not handy. I never learned those typical craftsmanship skills that young boys usually pick up at an early age. There are several reasons for that, but they're inconsequential to where I am today.
Since becoming a homeowner, I have increasingly tried to add practical skills to my proverbial toolbox. I've done tiling, installed faucets, shoot, I even put in an entire pergola. Every single project was extremely stressful to begin with.
You might be thinking, "What's so stressful about installing a toilet?" For me, it's because it takes me completely out of my wheelhouse. Electronics? I got you. Need to disassemble a gun? No problem. How about cooking a meal worthy of the ones you love? Yes. But when it comes to handiwork, I typically don't even know where to begin.
I also have the type of personality where I need to understand something fully before I feel comfortable executing it. For example, before installing this toilet, I had to know exactly how it worked. What type of seal do I need? What are the benefits of the different chair heights? What flush valve do I want? It's insanity. I imagine most people just go buy a toilet and that's that.
But while deciding on a toilet, I knew one thing for certain: I had to have a bidet. I have been waiting years to get one. The Army ruins you on proper hygiene because if you're out in the field with mud-butt or swamp ass, you are absolutely miserable. When my wife and I initially got together, she thought my obsession with having a clean B-hole was quite weird. Sorry, it's just who I am.
The quick backstory is that several years ago we toured Italy for a few weeks, and there were bidets in every hotel. It was divine. My chocolate starfish never felt so fresh, and I've never forgotten the joy of being able to wash up after every number two. I wanted to capture that magic at home.
So, with my wife's blessing, I bought a bidet toilet. Nothing too fancy requiring electricity, a heated seat, or hot water. Just a simple spritz of water. Amazing. Instead of spending the money to have a professional put it in, I felt it was high time I added toilet installation to my repertoire.
This toilet is 110 lbs, and we needed to get it to the second floor. My back is absolutely destroyed from the Army, but I'm functional. So, I enlisted my wife to help me get this thing upstairs. It wasn't pretty, but we got that big bastard up there, just to begin the hardest part of this project: the installation.
Removing the old toilet was no problem. I had that piece of junk out of there lickety-split. But getting the new toilet installed was a whole 'nother animal. For the most part, getting it set and sealed wasn't the issue. Connecting all of the water lines in a tight space was the real nightmare. After getting this porcelain throne of butt cleanliness set, I realized we had a leak at one of the water connections. No problem, I thought, I'll just tighten that thing up, razzle-dazzle, and I'm on my way to fresh-town.
Nope. There was zero room behind this single-piece behemoth to get a wrench in. I had to pull it back out to tighten all of the loose connections. I thought I had it, I really did. But I was wrong. So wrong. I turned the water back on and it immediately started dripping, mocking my manhood.
I called my best friend, who also happens to be a contractor, lamenting my problem. He recommended lathering it with silicone if I was going to be a lazy POS and not pull it back out. So, I made my drive of shame to Home Depot.
Going to Home Depot is always an interesting experience. There are people there whom you can tell immediately know exactly what they're doing, and then there's me and the rest of the lost boys. We always offer each other a solemn head nod in recognition that we don't know WTF we're doing when we pass each other in the plumbing aisle. But that nod of encouragement means everything.
Anyway, I bought that silicone caulk, shamefully drove myself back home, and slathered that shit on. It didn't work. After waiting an hour (30 minutes past the recommended cure time, mind you), the drip actually seemed to mock me by being WORSE.
I again, shamefully, pulled the toilet entirely up. I tightened every single connection to the max and, in total self-deprecation, called my wife for the third time to help me guide the toilet back onto the flange.
Well, this time it worked! No leaks, it flushes beautifully, and the grand finale? It washes my ass. Now, look above and behold my triumph!
The moral of the story? Be uncomfortable and do uncomfortable things. You'll be glad ya did.
Dad out.