excerpt from “How to Retile Your Bathroom in 6 Easy Steps!” by Gwen E. Kirby

1. Plan ahead. Remember, your bathroom will be out of commission for a few days.

Grip the handle of a screwdriver, and wedge its blade beneath the tiles, stab and jam, push down until you hear that pop, until the tile breaks in half and makes an edge sharp enough to cut. You will not cut yourself, obviously. Nothing dramatic is happening. Your fingers are powerful in their yellow rubber work gloves, your hands are steady, your mind is clear. You are ready. The ugly fucking tile is only the beginning of what you’ll accomplish. You are coming for the treacherous tub, the affected half-shell sink, the deceitful picture of a sailboat hanging over the toilet. You hate that picture, hate all nautical bathroom decor and its insistence that the toilet trigger thoughts of the ocean. You are sure it is the reason your children tried to flush their fish to freedom.

Take a deep breath. Stand and wipe sweat from your forehead with your wrist. Lift the picture off the wall and throw it into the hallway with the rest of the trash. Say, “Fixed.” The ghost of the picture remains as a stubborn square of darker green. Do not worry. You will repaint. This has been a long time coming, which is almost the same as being prepared.

2. Buy supplies.

Plastic sheeting. Masking tape. Utility knife. Chisel. Hammer. There must be a hammer somewhere, but do not go into the garage to look. You want your own hammer. Chalk-line tool. Thinset. Spacers. Level. Wet saw. Tile nippers. Tile-cutting bit. Water-resistant silicone caulk.

Do not go to the store to buy these items. You did not bear children so that you could go to the store. Your younger son is in his room fooling around with his girlfriend, who stayed the night. Pretend you do not know this. Pretend you are sending your older son because he is downstairs finishing breakfast, clearly available, and not because your younger son might refuse to go. Your older son will complain that this is unfair. He is correct. It is also unfair that your husband has left you for the orthodontist. It is unfair that he did not leave you years ago, when you still had many different people you wanted to fuck and many frequent-flier miles. It is unfair that you never learned how to walk in heels and unfair that you might need to again. It is unfair that you got a C in that art class in college and stopped drawing and unfair that your coworker overheard you calling her a bitch and unfair that polar bears are stuck on melting ice floes and unfair that mosquitoes carry malaria and it is unfair and unfair, and your son will see it in your expression and will not want to know what you are thinking. He will go quietly to the hardware store. You believe in not telling your children about your problems. Well done, you, for keeping that all inside. You are a good mother. When you have made this bathroom beautiful, you will be an even better one.

While your son buys supplies, there will be a lull in the action. Do not let it shake your passion for home improvement. There is some beer in the refrigerator. Carry a bottle out to the backyard and take a single sip. It is morning. It is spring. It is Saturday. The climbing vines are budding with purple flowers and will pull down the wooden fence soon if you don’t take care of them. It is too early for beer but it is also too early for drama and this is why you are not crying, you are not prostrate, some absurd caricature of an abandoned woman, no, you are standing in the sun, waiting for step 3 to take charge of your life.

. . .