Healed at last

I've always been amused by the phrase "window treatment," since I never figured the windows were sick to begin with.

But I will say the sliding doors in the bedroom next to the pool let more light in than I'm comfortable with -- enough to bleach the bed skirt to pink, and to start attacking Amanda's fine old rug on the floor.

Besides, as I found again when I was showering when my mom and B.J. were here, I'm not that fond of having to pull our bathroom door shut for privacy.

So I finally persuaded Robert to find some draperies online -- lime green with fuchsia ribbon applique doodads, no less -- and with poles and brackets and an hour or so with the drill and hammer and screwdriver . . . voila!

They may have given Karl an even bigger reason to scowl.