Balls!

The new freakishness exhibited by this god-forsaken door is that it seems to have decided to keep the finger-trails I left on it this morning when I touched it to show Johnny it was wet (because we're Corsican like that).

See...

...how they sort of start in the middle and sweep up to the right? Three of them?

Why'd I have to go and touch it!?

It's dry, but I obviously can't stain it like that without first consulting my in-house freakish-door expert, and he's off helping Andy (remember Andy?) paint his house (which he just closed on three days ago, and which needs a lot of work, and which I said I'd help him with tomorrow because he's done so much for us here. I don't want to -- I mean I so don't want to -- but I really must).

So I'm off to find something else Prudential to accomplish. And to write a poem, because we have a winner in the mutant-cat contest!