The sound of Phil’s electric toothbrush going off at twenty to seven every morning while I’m trying to put mascara on without poking my eye out – that’s what finally did it for me. Not the constant bumping into each other in our tiny bathroom, not the huffing and puffing when one of us took too long at the mirror, but that bloody buzzing right in my ear every single day.
“Right, we’re getting two sinks,” I said one morning, still clutching my mascara wand like I was about to stab someone with it.
“That’ll cost a fortune,” he mumbled through a mouthful of toothpaste foam.
Well, six months later and I can honestly say it’s the best money we’ve ever thrown at this house. Not just because our mornings actually work now (no more passive-aggressive mirror hogging), but because we don’t want to throttle each other before breakfast anymore.
The planning bit nearly sent me round the bend though. Spent ages measuring our bathroom with this ancient tape measure that kept snapping back and catching my fingers. Our bathroom’s about eight by ten feet – not massive but not a shoe box either. After pestering three different tradesmen and falling down a YouTube rabbit hole that lasted weeks, I learned you need at least sixty inches of wall space for a double vanity. We had seventy-two inches to play with, so we could actually make this work without turning the bathroom into a corridor.
The plumbing situation was where things got properly complicated (and expensive, obviously). Our original sink was bang in the middle of the main wall, which meant all the pipes were exactly where we didn’t need them for two sinks. Our plumber Dave – lovely bloke who drinks more tea than humanly possible and somehow keeps his work boots spotless – had to break it to us that we’d need to move everything.
“It’s doable,” he said, “but we’re basically starting from scratch with the water side of things.”
The new setup needed separate hot and cold feeds for each sink, plus individual waste pipes. Turns out we could use the existing drain for one of the new sinks, which saved us a few hundred quid. But the second drain meant cutting through the floor, which is when we discovered our bathroom sits over the kitchen (no surprises there) and that whoever did the electrics in the eighties had some very creative ideas about cable routing. That’s a whole other nightmare for another day.
I got completely obsessed with working out the spacing. Standard distance between sink centers is thirty-six inches, but we went with thirty-eight because we’re both quite broad and I didn’t fancy feeling like we were using the loos at a motorway service station. Those extra couple of inches make all the difference when you’re both reaching for the face wash at the same time.
Storage turned out to be way trickier than I’d expected. With one sink, you just stuff everything wherever it fits. With two sinks, suddenly you’re having to negotiate territory. Which side gets the hair dryer? Where does the shared stuff live – you know, dental floss, spot cream, all that?
We ended up getting a custom vanity made with four drawers each side (his and hers areas) and a shared middle cupboard for spare bits and cleaning products. I was dead set on soft-close drawer mechanisms after years of slamming drawers at half past six in the morning. Cost extra but worth every penny when you’re trying not to wake half the street.
The mirror debate nearly caused World War Three in our house. I wanted one big mirror right across the lot – cleaner look, reflects more light, easier to keep clean. Phil wanted separate mirrors so we wouldn’t have to look at each other first thing. (“I need to concentrate on what I’m doing,” he said. Charming.) We compromised with one mirror but individual hanging lights at different heights so we each get our own properly lit space.
Those lights were honestly a game-changer. Instead of the usual bulbs across the top of the mirror, we went with pendant lights at face height. No more weird shadows under your chin, no more squinting to work out if that’s a spot or just the lighting playing tricks. The pendants adjust up and down too, so I can drop mine when I need to see details and Phil can raise his because he’s got six inches on me.
Installation was four days of absolute chaos. Four days of cleaning our teeth over the kitchen sink and washing our faces with a flannel and bowl like we were camping in the Peak District. Four days of non-stop drilling and hammering, plus Dave’s running commentary on our house’s plumbing setup. (“Well, that’s certainly one way to do it,” was his diplomatic response to whatever cowboy had been here before.)
The moment we turned both taps on for the first time and proper water came out at decent pressure – honestly, it was like magic. We stood there grinning like a pair of idiots, just running water for the sake of it.
But here’s what really surprised me: how much having two sinks actually changed our whole morning routine, not just the practical bits. We naturally claimed our territories without even discussing it. I went for the left side (nearer the shower), Phil took the right (closer to the door). Within a week, we’d both organized our sides exactly how we wanted them.
Even more unexpected was that we started actually talking during our morning routine instead of just trying to avoid each other. Turns out when you’re not stressed about getting to the sink, you can have proper conversations about what’s happening that day, weekend plans, whether we need to pop to Tesco.
Since I know you’re wondering about the money side of things: the vanity cost twelve hundred pounds (got it made by a local carpenter who did a proper job), Dave’s plumbing work came to eight hundred, the mirror and lights were another four hundred, and fitting everything was three hundred on top. Total damage: two thousand seven hundred pounds. Not exactly small change, but when you work it out over how long we’re planning to stay here, it’s about two quid a month for bathroom peace.
Six months on and I honestly can’t imagine going back to the old setup. This morning I watched Phil doing his teeth while I sorted out my skincare routine, both of us using our own sink, our own space, our own perfectly positioned lighting. No annoying toothbrush buzz in my ear, no awkward dancing around each other, no grumpy faces before we’ve had our coffee.
Sometimes the best improvements to your house are the ones that fix problems you didn’t even realize were driving you mad until they’re sorted.
