A couple of years ago, the boys broke the doorknob on the door from the garage into the house. Paul replaced it, and the new doorknob worked. Sort of. It was always stiff and weird, and people would think the door was locked. Lately it had gotten a lot worse. I was throwing my hip into the door to get into the house.

I’m not sure why we put up with this for so long – maybe we’re both fatalists and believed that we somehow deserved a rotten doorknob – but it finally gave up the ghost the other day. It wouldn’t work at all anymore; to get the door to stay closed we had to throw the deadbolt.

I got on Amazon and ordered the doorknob with the best reviews I could find (“HANG THE EXPENSE!” I said, which I may never have said before in my life. “I’m getting the best doorknob there is!”)

The new doorknob arrived yesterday and Paul installed it after supper.


Isn’t she beautiful?

What has happened is that we cannot shut up about the new doorknob. “I can’t believe how easily this is going together!” Paul gushed, screwdriver in hand. “The other one was a pain to install, I remember.”

He got home from work today and I said, “I can’t believe how nice the new doorknob is! It even feels completely different in your hand! And the door just shuts behind me!”

Later, Paul came back in from the garage after taking out some trash. “This is so weird!” he said again. “It just feels so great!”

I’m not sure what the moral of this story is except perhaps that you get what you pay for. Also that our family is easily pleased. And sometimes a little too cheap for our own good.

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