There was nothing particularly special about the way in which my mother did this that made it a noteworthy event, nor was I strangely obsessed with window treatments as a child (though in adulthood I've developed a distinct animosity towards venetian blinds - but that's a whole other story).  The thing about new net curtains going up...was that the old ones would come down.  And that's where the fun would begin.

I'm not a particularly big fan of net curtains.  They serve the purpose of obscuring the interior of your home - in which you might be...dancing in your underwear, say - from view but they have a bit too much of the "nana aesthetic" about them to be something that I can wholeheartedly embrace.  And I personally think that "terylene" is one of the most wonderfully hideous product names ever invented.  Once upon a time I adopted "Terylene" as my "Kath and Kim" name and would do what I fancied was highly entertaining improv comedy whilst sipping "kardonnay", and dragging my vowels out till they were "keeecking and scrooiming".
But back to my mother's net curtains.  These were almost certainly being replaced because of the gaping, sagging wounds they'd suffered at the claws of one of our cats.  Naturally they couldn't be employed as curtains any longer so as soon as they came down, my sister and I, and whichever neighbour or girlhood friend was around, would fall upon them with glee, gathering them up into bundles under our chins.  Unfortunately they were usually a bit dusty and as a result the weirdly synthetic aroma of not-quite-clean net curtains takes me back to girlish dress-up sessions of a simpler time.  For when we got our hands on those diaphanous strips of curtain we transformed ourselves into the ultimate example of womanhood.  We became brides.