In my own private Pottery Barn World, I'm happy and organized. In my own private Pottery Barn World, my life looks neat and crisp and color-coordinated. In my own private Pottery Barn World, I've mastered the Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up.
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 and the bathtub fixtures shine so much, I can see myself.
If I'm not in the bathroom, wrapped in a super-soft pastel towel, then I might be in the bedroom, resting on the white linen duvet. Or perhaps I'm reading a book in the living room, lounging on my white linen sofa, my legs up on the reclaimed wood coffee table. Forget "Where's Waldo?" This is all about "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. In that way, I'm a little bit anal.
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