LIVING IN THE POTTERY BARN

I would like to chuck all of my stuff in a dumpster somewhere. Just sweep the place clean and start over. Gone with the tchotchkes. Good riddance to all the “memorabilia.” Most of those vacations weren’t that memorable. Roll up those rugs and send them to my children, who—for heaven’s sake—can use help in the flooring department.

So I just want to have a stiff wind come through and blow everything away. And then, I think what I would really like to do is sell my house and broker a deal with my local Pottery Barn store. This might be a source of income for Pottery Barns all over the nation, if they would just heed my suggestion.

I would like to lease out the Pottery Barn and live in it. Oh, I know, I know—store hours. Not a problem. My husband is an early riser, and I could relearn that skill. After all, I did raise children and get them out the door for school, and then went to work myself. My current habit of staying in bed until around eleven a.m. could be modified.

See, it’s like this. My husband and I are busy people. We don’t need to hang around the house during the day. I never make his lunch or anything. So we would arrive “home” at the Pottery Barn at closing time, say ten p.m. We would hustle out any lingering customers by giving them dirty looks. We would then settle into either one of the extremely attractive “family room” areas, or perhaps, if exhausted, go straight to one of the “bedrooms,” containing very puffy and color coordinated bedding, stacks of pillows, bolsters, and little jeweled squares that I swear might be “tooth pillows.” We would toss those on the floor with abandon and settle down to a night of delicious slumber. Or, we might watch a few movies first, on our technological devices that all humans now possess, and that render the necessity for landlines or actual television sets moot.

We would arise, refreshed, at around eight. That would give us plenty of time to shove our pjs under one of the beds, and then go over to the bathroom display area to brush our teeth. I admit a small glitch in the area of bathing and actually using a toilet, but we could certainly use the public restrooms for this, before the mall opened. After all, we both stayed in dormitories while in college.

We would then spend the day doing our computer work at the café with wi fi, drinking coffee and discussing politics—just like the intellectuals in the sidewalk cafes in Paris. Yes. Like Hemingway and Gertrude Stein. But I am so much better looking than she was.

We could mall walk for exercise, and then have a few appetizers at Williams Sonoma, and then go to one of the lovely Mall restaurants for dinner. Because as I have always said, if a Mall has a Pottery Barn and a Restoration Hardware, it’s a GOOD mall.

And then back home, to PB. Where all is always artfully arranged, things seem to go together seamlessly, there are no cat or dog hairs on anything (oh, gee—what to do about the cats), no white rings on the coffee table where thoughtless schlubs have put their iced tea, and not one dirty dish or sickly house plant.

I would say that a sweet deal like this would be attractive to the Pottery Barn people. Think of the testimonials I would write for them! This may be just the start of my new career as the “Professional Pottery Barn Tenant.” Wait. Instead of paying rent, maybe I will charge THEM.

Yes. Live at the Pottery Barn and tweet the tale. It’s a plan.

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