Today my six-month Pottery Barn checkup came due so I wandered down there for a few minutes. Every half-year or so I need to enter a Pottery Barn (or a Williams Sonoma, or a Crate & Barrel, or almost any store on Union Square) to sneer at the ridiculous merchandise, thereby reminding myself that I don’t really want to live in the rooms displayed in the catalogs, where no one leaves teacups out on the table or owns garbage cans.
“Can I help you?” said the Pottery Barn employee.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m looking for something which is both functionless and exorbitantly expensive.”
“Allow me to recommend the teak cleaning spray,” he said immediately, and my scorn for it wafted me straight out of the store and into my right mind.
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