Dreadful door dilemmas.
A “Hot Flashes” column this week.

It is about entry doors that never seem to be right. They are either too new and expensive, or too old and expensive to replace. That doesn’t mean that the new and expensive ones are worth much. A friend upgraded hers recently and after few winters was agonizing about some warping in the frame.
So the old “Knock. Knock. Who’s there?” jokes might either result in a fateful collapse or a fateful checkbook. I experienced that recently while waiting for a friend to pick me up. I was ready, holding the knob and about to shut the door. The next thing was holding the knob in my hand while the rest of the mechanism went crashing to the floor in many pieces. My cat peaked through the gaping hole wondering what all the clatter was about. I had to run to the curb to announce that I wasn’t going anywhere. Meantime the greedy and expensive door lock guy was hovering in the area, licking his chops and sorting out his best brass for desperate hags.
But that was just the door knob part of the “Knock. Knock” joke. I got a yen for an entirely new door the other day. You know, like the ones in murder movies where people just sit around with a lot of money, perfectly clean houses with freshly arranged flowers and nothing to do but flaunt their front doors. And the doors where the murderer or detective knocks have charming floral patterns etched within a smart oval. And there might be an equally charming transom above and side things (whatever they’re called) with matching floral patterns.
A while back, I realized that my back kitchen door was Grover Cleveland vintage without the Victorian charm. It other words, it had deteriorated into a rattling piece of junk. When I ordered a new door, I so rebelled the idea of how expensive it was that I painted the steel thing shocking pink on the outside. While the paint can was open, I painted the mail box, also, thereby sealing a real estate deal that no male on the planet would ever buy my house. Especially after aspiring to a new floral front entry door.
The other back door, while solid in all respects, had been painted unpleasant colors with a healthy slab of white on top. White white, as in cadaver special. I got the idea a while back that I should strip the paint and flaunt the real wood. Half way through the project, I slipped and fell down the basement stairs. That was years ago and I have felt cursed about that project ever since. So from the outside, the door still looks like Dracula died and bled to death on it. It’s still solid, however.
Then there are garage doors. I was convinced that everyone in the world had one that actually worked. The track on mine had been jerry-rigged so many times that the door pitifully moaned and rested askew. I finally gave up and left it open all the time, leaving a perfect place above for various critters and birds to nest. The new garage door people showed up complete with motor and remotes so that I thought I had been reborn into royalty. Imagine! Driving up and hitting a button to usher me in. For a while, I even thought that I saw a butler ready to accompany me with umbrella into the house.
So my current goal is that when the detective or murderer shows up at the front door to say, “Knock. Knock,” I will answer, “I’ll be right there! I am arranging flowers right now and giving the butler instructions.”

Happy shopping, all, and “Hot Flashes, 101 Reasons to Laugh at Life” book available at amazon.com and kindle (whatever that is)…