I have been good to you, Pottery Barn. I mixed your new wicker chairs with an old oak table, back in 1993, Pottery Barn, back in the day.

And I want you to know – they almost didn’t make it. Those chairs went into storage and almost never got out. Everything from Eames to Windsor chairs were considered as cooler replacements, Pottery Barn, but we stuck with you.

We’ve grown apart as I’ve grown up, but I still like you, Pottery Barn – I’ve just learned to look the other way at your needy trend-making and your silly metal letters that spell “AMOR” and “BISTRO” and “DREAMERS.”

And this is how you repay me.

Now, we’ll never be accused of chaining ourselves to trees and changing our last name to “Butterfly.” But we do our bit, Pottery Barn, and you’re not doing yours. Perhaps you’ve not heard that drowning in unwanted paper goods is now considered a bad thing?

As much as I love decorating porn – and I swear on a stack of Horchow Homes, I do – there is not room, not room in my house or any other, for this many publications. Even my preteen daughter, so enamored with “PB Teen” and all of its cool, bright, iPod-ready furniture, is bored with you. And that takes some doing.

Is this maybe about the red Asian Toile?

Are you punishing me for buying the shams from you, but the king-size quilt from eBay? Because those pricey shams were on sale, but you were out of the quilt. Oh, PB, always with the passive-aggressive.

Stop crowding me. Let me look at the website instead; give my postal worker’s back a break; let your customers keep their trees. Don’t you need extra trees for all those very large armoires?

I have done what I can to fend you off, but you are one persistent stalker. Familiarity breeds contempt, Pottery Barn, and we’ve become a little too familiar.

Catalog Choice

41 Lbs.

Stop the Junk Mail (oh my, they even plant a tree for you!)