Elly Patterson, Interior Desecrator Redux.

Elly's need to have her house looking like something so God-awful that even the Brady Bunch would ask where her taste went is, of course, the result of her following trends she's too stupid to question. The dubious looking carving that she bought in Barbados is not only fodder for a healthy debate on import restrictions, it's a reminder that she has no real class or taste and not much in the way of sales resistance. Since most of the colors she thinks are classy are those most readily associated with the sitting rooms of dowager aunts in their eighties, what we can take away from the teal-and-lavender nightmare she talked Liz into unleashing is the toxic end-product of her not being smart enough to question the color scheme wished on her by dint of her parents being bequeathed the less tasteful spare furniture of their more upscale relatives. That is, of course, assuming that she isn't simply color-blind; if she were, the revolting color combinations that disgust us would seem restful and soothing to her.