July 28, 2011

A Wrecked TILE Dysfunction.

I must say, I rocked at laying vinyl tiles on the mudroom floor. Until the part where I sat down in the glue... yeah, things kinda went downhill from there. And just before starting on the front entrance floor, I discovered that one must not glue expensive ceramic tiles onto a particle board subfloor as it is too unstable. If it gets wet, which it will (snow, hello), the board will swell causing the tiles to lift and crack. Those who frequent this blog even got to see my stabby face.

And here's what I hope will be the conclusion of my foray into DIY floor tiling.

I gave up on the tiling. And like any self-respecting wife who's husband is off in England for SIX WEEKS, I'd decided to take a night off and drink heavily before putting away all the DIY gear. I left the big bag of floor tile cement powder, along with the two big bags of black grout (also powder) on the little rug in the middle of the freshly tiled (with vinyl tiles) mudroom floor.

It was extremely hot so all the doors were open into the garden, in an effort to tempt the breeze into the house. Suddenly, it began to rain. The rain was crashing down!

It was pouring off the edge of the roof, overwhelming the guttering and literally streaming into every open door! I ran to the garden room (the floor of which was also tiled by moi 6 years ago) and discovered it flooded in an inch of water. I shut the door and mopped it up as quickly as I could; I can't even remember what that sub floor was. And just like that, it stopped raining. Yeesh!

I headed to the mudroom and discovered that it was also wet...

...but there was no puddle of water.

Because it had soaked into the little rug in the middle of the room.

And the paper bags of cement and black grout.

I wish I could tell you it ended there.

But it didn't.

My fourteen year old daughter helped me get the soaking wet bag of cement into a black garbage bag and together we managed to carry it into the garage. But the bag of BLACK grout powder split on the teenager and covered her in fine black dust. It didn't help that she was wearing a nice white shirt that she'd recently bought with her own money. So then I got to see her stabby face.

Fun times, right?

Well any ways the next day I went into the mudroom and I see that the tiles I so lovingly glued down on a particle board subfloor had lifted and cracked in what I can only describe as a flash flood.

And the wet cement? Solid.

I literally could not make this stuff up. I never want to see another tile as long as I live.
Can I have a margarita now...?

A note of thanks to my friend Adam for sparking this title with me.