I don’t understand Stacey’s obsession with windows and doors. She claims they’re the ‘bridge between worlds’ – presumably, the worlds of outside and inside – and devotes a huge amount of attention to cleaning, decorating and generally admiring each and every one in her house. To her credit, it means they always look dazzling, although slightly at the expense of other things, like the gutters.
Anyway, Stacey came over to my place this morning, and immediately launched into a diatribe about how I could improve my front door situation. Of course, she delivered her criticism in her signature ‘love and light’ packaging, but she still got pretty stuck into me. She basically implied that I must not love myself or my house guests because I clearly don’t love my door, the bridge from consensus reality to the private vortex of my living room.
I didn’t quite know how to respond, so I found myself asking her for advice. She had plenty to say regarding the best timber door replacement Melbourne has to offer, but not a whole lot on how to love myself more. Should I tell her that she’s never going to get a following as self-empowerment coach at this rate? I mean, if all she’s going to do for people’s supposed issues is suggest ways of throwing money at them, she’s really not much chop at it.
The thing is, I currently have an aluminium door. Replacement ideas should probably start with what’s already there, right? Why assume that I want a wooden door? I have plenty of reasons for having a metal one, thanks very much. They’re more durable, for starters, and they suit the style of the house.
But then, Stacey’s got this notion that houses should ideally look like storybook cottages, preferably inhabited by elderly witches or bands of animate garden gnomes. Where does she get these ideas? More to the point, how does she manage to hold down a successful career as an accountant?