I hate Pottery Barn. That may make me un-American, but I loathe that store more than Democrats hate Bush. We got our winter catalogue in the mail yesterday, and while the glossy pages are filled with gorgeous rooms- there is always a sameness, a cookie-cutter feel to all of their stuff. It's like Americans don't even have to think of creating original, thoughtful homes that reflect their own personal styles- they just go to their local PB, Starbucks latte in hand, and schlep home their own Thomas bed. I always imagine these wacky San Francisco designers, smoking their little French cigarettes, surrounded by their apothecary jars- plotting which home accessory to inflict upon us next.
In other grumpy news, I've got sick kids home YET again. With a million errands to run, no milk in the house and a mother-in-law fast approaching, this virus has long worn out its welcome.
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