My Pottery Barn World

In my Pottery Barn world, I'm very organized.  In my Pottery Barn office, things look neat and crisp and color-coordinated.  In my actual office, things are a hot mess.  It is very chaotic in there.  Careful not to trip.  Starting today,  I'm relocating to the Pottery Barn Catalogue, where I plan to go page to page, living a casual yet elegant and well-matched life. You may find me on page 10, in the perfectly white kitchen, or you may find me on 25, reclining on the outdoor furniture, sipping a margarita. 

If I'm not on that page, I'll be somewhere else in the catalogue, maybe in the bathroom, where there's plenty of space for my stuff, and the cabinets lack clutter, the medicine aligns alphabetically, and the bathtub fixtures shine so much, I can see my distorted punim.  If I'm not in the bathroom, wrapped in a super-soft pastel towel, then I might be in the bedroom, resting on the old-fashioned yet updated country quilt.  Or perhaps I'm reading a book in the living room, my buttcheeks planted on a distressed leather chair, my legs up on an ottoman.  Instead of "Where's Waldo," this will be "Where's the SJG?"  What page of the Pottery Barn Catalogue am I hiding in?  Is that me sniffing the tangerine-scented candles?  Me fluffing the sunflower pillows?  Me behind the shimmery curtains?  Keep looking, people.  I'm there somewhere.  I'm in the Pottery Barn Catalogue.  My new home.  You're welcome to visit, but don't stay too long. I like to keep the place nice.  I'm anal that way.