I am a self-professed Pottery Barn addict. But more of the visual persuasion. Meaning, I look (obsessively) but manage never to touch (unless 75% markdowns are in the equation). I revel the day when all four catalogs (yes, four- believe me, if there's a Pottery Barn catalog to be perused, I don't discriminate; however, investing in PB Kids and Teens has left me in dire longing for an adolescent bedroom re-do), crammed to the brim, are removed ever-so gently from their brief, compact home. Sometimes I scream. Mostly, I internalize my overwhelming joy for the pages upon pages of beautifully crafted perfection, in centerpiece and bedding form.
It's strictly a love/love relationship. I affectionately display her pages on practically every available surface space while she gingerly presents aesthetically stimulating design masterpieces that make me drool. Literally, I'm indebted to her.
She inspires me.
Motivates me.
Encourages me.
I'd be in a pit of eternal design despair without her. So, a genuine thank you to you, Pottery Barn, for allowing me the privilege to retain your utter creative genius. Truly, I'm most appreciative. The husband would highly beg to differ, but I contend it's a deeply rooted issue of jealousy that stems from his inability to grasp your finer qualities. Surely, he'll thank you in his own time.
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