It's not peep-toed pumps. It is not a pot of impatiens. It is not Claritin.
It is the realization that I do not live in the Pottery Barn Outdoors catalogue. Some time ago, I lamented I did not live in the Athleta catalogue. I am past that. I have made peace with the fact I cannot, in fact, run around town wearing the Shakati swim top and paddleboarding overto Starbucks, despite the fact that my town is indeed connected by a series of lakes.
If the Athleta catalogue makes me feel bad about my abs, then the Pottery Barn outdoor catalogue makes me feel bad about my home. Let's take a tour, shall we?
1. Lemonade in a decanter. You, pedestrian, serve it out of the carton. Go ahead and pour in some Newman's Own. I won't tell. You can get it MONOGRAMMED too. (I actually may buy this one. Without a monogram).
2. It is tough to tell where the deck ends and where the beach begins. At your house, the deck ends, and then the beach begins about 150 miles away. We don't make a sectional that big.
3. If you lived here, you would have household help to rake the rocks, uncork that Sauvignon Blanc and pick up whatever kind of woodsies fall off those vines.
4. Yes! I have been looking for just the thing on which to place around the chess set at the base of the dock!
5. Would it be overkill if I put this on the front steps?
6. Clambake!
