The Ins and Outs of Owning a French Door

By Mary Mendoza

The Ins and Outs of Owning a French Door - C'est La Vie

We have a half-dozen half-started, half-finished projects in our house, yet our excuses for not completing them are compelling.

"Let's wait for the winter rains to start."

"As soon as I lose 75 pounds."

"After the Olympics."

"When pigs fly."

That's why it made perfect sense for us to buy a French door we didn't need.

We originally planned to buy a storm door to replace the old one in the kitchen. A plain, everyday, no-frills storm door. We shopped around a bit as the experts advise you to do. But once inside the cavernous corridors of a Major Home Supply Store, I became a woman possessed. Resting against some pillars was the most beautiful, elegant French door I'd ever seen. It was on sale, too! Twenty bucks off the regular price --but the sale ended Monday. We must strike while the iron was hot.

I found my husband in the kitchen ceiling section and dragged him over to see My Door. He immediately fell under its spell, agreeing that what we needed most in our lives was a French door. It could replace the sliding aluminum deck doors.

At the checkout, with a shaking hand and racing pulse, I gave my credit card to the clerk. This was a big moment for us. We said we'd be back the following Saturday to pick up our door. When we got home I looked at the receipt.

"Honey, what size are the deck doors?"

"Regular size."

"Well, they better be five feet because that's what we've got!" I hollered.

"I noticed that, but I thought it meant five feet high," he said sheepishly.

"What person in his right mind would buy a five foot high French door? Are you nuts? Go measure them."

"They're 72 inches," he said.

"In width, right?" I said peevishly.

"Call the store and tell them we need the six footer."

He called and was put on hold for ten minutes and then disconnected. "Let's just brazen it out," I said. "The ad says the five and six footers are the same price. A big place like that's sure to have more."

I spent the next week dreaming of my door, of how owning a French door could finally turn my life around. I'd soon be in the company of such celebrity French door owners as Martha Stewart, Jesse Ventura, and Tipper Gore.

My husband spent the week studying the How to Install a French Door manual. He asked a friend, a master carpenter, to help him, when he realized he was in over his head. I was so proud of him!

We arrived at the store, receipt and ad in hand. Luckily, the customer service clerk grasped the situation instantly and issued an edict that brought forth two fresh-faced young men to locate the proper door. It took an hour for them to find a forklift, block all the aisles within a two-mile radius and wrestle our door down from the rafters. It took them another thirty minutes to peel off the wrapper. Then they were suddenly motionless; the only sound was the sweat dripping off their faces. My husband looked tense. I longed for a tall, cool Piña Colada. "You wanted the wood door, right?" the sweatiest one said. "We want the six footer," I said. "Yeah, but wood, right?" "No," my husband said. "Steel, we want steel." "Oh, oh!" the kid said. "I hope we have one."

Eventually, after another interminable wait, they found the right door. We strapped it on the truck and hurried home.

My reputation as Hurricane Mary is well known. When it came time for the installation I was instructed that I had the right to remain silent and if I didn't it would be held against me. I was not to speak to the carpenter, not to offer advice or suggestions of any kind.

By the end of the day, my husband and the carpenter had the door installed.

"It looks like it's inside out," I said apprehensively.

"You've put it in wrong! It shouldn't open out, it should open in," I said.

"It does open in if you're out," my husband said.

"But, I'm not going to be out," I said.

"I'll be in." The carpenter looked at the two of us and said, "I'm outta here!"

Later, with my feet up, my head clearer, I gazed at my new French door. It's the loveliest French door in the world, even if it is inside out.

Biographical Sketch - Mary Mendoza

Madcap Mary Mendoza, formerly known as Hurricane Mary, lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, son, three cats and 200,000 Sunset magazines.

Madcap's humor columns and feature stories have appeared in publications around the Northwest as well as online. She is the author of The Adventures of Madcap Mary, a collection of humorous stories. Madcap can be reached at mcmendoza@ispiral.com. Visit Madcap's site! http://www.madcapmary.com.