I’ve always taken that as something of a backhanded compliment and I’ve never pressed him for the details that led to his conclusion. I’ve chosen to think that it has something to do with the interior aesthetic of our home, or my Junior Women’s Club Achievement Medal in crocheting. It may also have something to do with my bar behavior, but I simply don’t want to go there. Whatever the reason, I must confess that one of the few TV shows that I consistently enjoy is Designing Women, particularly since Dixie Carter, one of the stars, helped kick off the Henlopen Theater Project two summers ago with her personal appearance.

On Friday I had the opportunity to play a lead role in “Designing Men” as our Tenth Floor Condo Elevator Lobby Decorating Committee, TFCELDC for short, made a decisive move to create beauty and banish the banal. For reasons known only to… Well, I’m not sure that anyone knows the reason why in our condo, the owners on each floor are responsible for the décor of that floor’s elevator lobby. One thing I am sure of is that the results vary from dark and drab to hideous and horrendous. The twelfth floor lobby has rough irregular barn wood boards at odd angles with mirrors placed intermittently. When I step off the elevator at twelve I immediately look for the toilet tissue dispenser. I feel as if I’m in an upscale outhouse and I want to be prepared if nature calls. It’s not a décor that makes one want to linger.

The fifth floor has two white concrete entry urns filled with faded fake flowers that might have been stolen from a New Orleans cemetery-in 1972. If I had to look at that display every time I enter or exit the building I’d either wear dark sunglasses, or a plastic bag over my head, on every passage through the lobby.

On ten, our floor, the lobby has a mirrored wall facing the elevator doors, two low blonde benches with pink cushions, a mottled brown tile floor of small squares that looks as if it was lifted from the Greyhound Bus Depot men’s room in Hoboken, and two pseudo cut glass ceiling fixtures that on a good day emit 10 to 20 watts of sickly yellow light. The overall effect is that of a funeral parlor. Six Feet Under could shoot embalming scenes in our lobby and move down to five for the funeral.

The owners on ten, however, recently decided to come out of their funereal closet and we all chipped in to retile, repaint, and redecorate. And guess who was chosen to lead the charge for change? The winner of the Junior Women’s Club Achievement Medal, that’s who.

Selecting a tile was easy. I brought several possibilities for my floor mates (interesting word, interesting concept) to consider and the vote was almost unanimous. For ceiling fixtures I switched from democracy to autocracy and simply purchased two at Lowe’s that I felt would dispel our gloom. The biggie, of course, was the selection of new furniture and for that I conscripted my two neighbors, one straight, and one gay.

So on Friday morning we hit the consignment galleries in and around Ft. Lauderdale and I quickly learned that my taste in decorating is not universal. Mark and Leo rejected my choice of a rattan secretary. They liked the chrome and brass glass topped table but rejected it because it was only 28 inches high. It needed a few more inches. I was shocked to find that even in decorating, size matters. One of the shops had a hammock type contraption that might have come out of an S&M club and would have put us in competition with the twelfth floor for the “Ugliest Lobby” title. But I thought it was unique and interesting and combined with the faded flowers on five would have made a statement-a statement that no one would understand.

After hours of looking, and after hotdogs and sauerkraut at a little German lunch spot, the design team sprang into action. We became decisive and brought home a dark wood table, the kind that fits behind a sofa and fairly shouts, “Tradition,” a small oriental style mahogany corner chair and candelabra that goes on top of the table. I later added six candles in a russet/pumpkin shade and that decision was a reversion to autocracy. I wasn’t going to chance being outvoted on mauve vs sage. There’s only so much committee work and consensus building that I can handle in a days time.

The end result is definitely worth it. The new tile looks like marble with some intermittent streaks of rose. Since it has a “wet finish” it reflects a lot of light and the new ceiling fixtures are bright enough to change the lobby from a funeral parlor to an autopsy room. The furnishings have won kudos from all around and residents from other floors stop by to admire our transformation.

Now that that’s done I can retire from the designing men, reclaim my genetic heritage, and go back to being a slut.