I want you to know it's nothing personal. Yes, we managed to preserve the plaster in other rooms, but you've suffered many more tragedies than them, long before you came into my possession. If you had been mine 50 years ago, we might be telling a different story today - but alas, that is not the case.
It definitely wasn't me who covered you in particle board, probably with the intention of applying laminate? And I sure as heck didn't pound a million nails into you and add a dropped ceiling. In fact, we tried to rescue you from these very things, but the damage was done. There's just no going back.
So while we've been living in this work in progress for over three years now, that's just the tip of the iceberg. If the particle board was here when Gabe's grandparents bought the place in 1980, then the kitchen has been incomplete for...let's see...OVER THIRTY YEARS. Longer than I've been alive. At least. After scraping down the layers and patching you up, we applied some fabulous red paint to you. But let's be honest: it was lipstick on a pig, a few more years of life support, an 86-year-old lady's last face lift. The time has come to put you to put you out of your misery.
It's not just about your looks. We know you're hiding things. You're concealing old electricity that can't handle all these new-fangled gizmos we have these days. Have you noticed the light above the sink recently started blinking randomly? I don't think that's good. And we'd like a fan. Since we removed the second bathroom door, we can no longer open it and use the bathroom fan to remove excess smokiness. And Lord only knows the state of the insulation behind you.
Don't get me wrong. We've cooked a lot of delicious meals in you. They got even tastier after we patched and painted the ceiling, preventing the old lead paint chips from raining down on our food.
After some incremental improvements, there just isn't anything more we can do. I hope you'll understand. See you in the big Foursquare in the sky.
Love,
Jessie and Gabe
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