What’s so wrong with our kitchen and bathrooms?
We are following the realtor’s advice in selling our house. We decluttered. We cleaned the basement and had the asbestos tile removed. Then we had the cellar painted a nice linen white, with a gray floor. We had our septic tank system brought up to code. We hung our carbon monoxide detectors as required by law. We washed the windows. We had the outside painted. We fixed the sliding doors on the storage closets so they actually do slide. We repaired the grotty plaster in the garage. The place is so buffed up that we almost want to continue to live there.
Then we listed it at a high price for a month, and have now dropped the price, as we all agreed we would have to do. The whole thing is ritualistic in its unfolding, like a dance.
So now we are attracting buyers who might actually want to buy the house. But what turns all of them off? The kitchen and bathrooms. Dated. Well, okay, the bathrooms are 1958 bathrooms, and the master bath, especially, is tiny. But we’ve added some good wiring, some quite upscale lighting fixtures, vanities in both bathrooms, and nice wood frames around the mirrors. The guest bath has been given one of those shower-head-on-a-flexible-tube things. I know no one wants pink and black tiles (I mean, even I don’t want pink and black tiles) but overall the tiles are sound and are of good quality.
The kitchen has been updated . . . in the late 80s. It too was pink and black . . . or pink and gray, anyway. The walls were pink. The formica was white with little pink and black amoeba shapes. The appliances were pink. The dishwasher was basically a deep drawer that had a paddle at the bottom that splashed water really, really fast. The cabinets were plywood (although with a glossy finish). It was billed as an “eat in” kitchen, which means that one end was essentially dead space.
We had the whole thing gutted. The wall oven and broom closet space became a pantry. The refrigerator moved down, and the dead space became a desk for a home office. New cabinets, with a back splash of hand painted Mexican tiles. Under cabinet lighting and track lighting. Lots of outlets. An oak top between the kitchen and the (new) sunroom. Yellow and terracotta colors (though now the appliances are almond, as “harvest gold” went the way of pink-and-black.)
Here’s what we don’t have: granite counters. A hardwood floor (everywhere else in the house, yes, but not in the kitchen.) Cabinets with metal or wood pulls (they are built into the decorative wood strips on ours). I’m not sure what else.
But apparently people who might like the house are getting estimates on how much it would take to rip out the new kitchen and start over. Rip out the bathrooms and start over. That feels funny, like someone coming along and saying they think your child is really cute, but needs a nose job, orthodontia, and lipo before he can be admitted to the club.
I’d just like to say, though, that even though I’m buying a house with granite countertops and a hardwood floor in the kitchen, I think both ideas are really dumb. Drop a plate on granite, and what’s going to smash? Get water on the hardwood, and what’s going to warp? At times, fashion is a monstrous beast indeed.
Then we listed it at a high price for a month, and have now dropped the price, as we all agreed we would have to do. The whole thing is ritualistic in its unfolding, like a dance.
So now we are attracting buyers who might actually want to buy the house. But what turns all of them off? The kitchen and bathrooms. Dated. Well, okay, the bathrooms are 1958 bathrooms, and the master bath, especially, is tiny. But we’ve added some good wiring, some quite upscale lighting fixtures, vanities in both bathrooms, and nice wood frames around the mirrors. The guest bath has been given one of those shower-head-on-a-flexible-tube things. I know no one wants pink and black tiles (I mean, even I don’t want pink and black tiles) but overall the tiles are sound and are of good quality.
The kitchen has been updated . . . in the late 80s. It too was pink and black . . . or pink and gray, anyway. The walls were pink. The formica was white with little pink and black amoeba shapes. The appliances were pink. The dishwasher was basically a deep drawer that had a paddle at the bottom that splashed water really, really fast. The cabinets were plywood (although with a glossy finish). It was billed as an “eat in” kitchen, which means that one end was essentially dead space.
We had the whole thing gutted. The wall oven and broom closet space became a pantry. The refrigerator moved down, and the dead space became a desk for a home office. New cabinets, with a back splash of hand painted Mexican tiles. Under cabinet lighting and track lighting. Lots of outlets. An oak top between the kitchen and the (new) sunroom. Yellow and terracotta colors (though now the appliances are almond, as “harvest gold” went the way of pink-and-black.)
Here’s what we don’t have: granite counters. A hardwood floor (everywhere else in the house, yes, but not in the kitchen.) Cabinets with metal or wood pulls (they are built into the decorative wood strips on ours). I’m not sure what else.
But apparently people who might like the house are getting estimates on how much it would take to rip out the new kitchen and start over. Rip out the bathrooms and start over. That feels funny, like someone coming along and saying they think your child is really cute, but needs a nose job, orthodontia, and lipo before he can be admitted to the club.
I’d just like to say, though, that even though I’m buying a house with granite countertops and a hardwood floor in the kitchen, I think both ideas are really dumb. Drop a plate on granite, and what’s going to smash? Get water on the hardwood, and what’s going to warp? At times, fashion is a monstrous beast indeed.