It’s the time of year when Pottery Barn goes out of their way to make me feel bad about my life. All it takes is a little time on the can flipping through their holiday catalogue to remind me how much of a disappointment I am to my wife, children, parents, America and any number of Chinese manufacturers. In no particular order, I am reminded of the following:
I look fat in sweaters – In Pottery Barn’s perfect world, every dad, mom, son, daughter and friendly, cross-racial and sexually neutral neighbor (who is not thinking inappropriately about your wife or daughter mind you) looks great in a sweater. They are trim, muscular and don’t look like assholes wearing patterns of spruce tree and glazed cookies. I can’t put on a simple gray sweater without looking like I somehow have both a concave chest and floppy man-boobs (moobs) while I am also wearing an inflated bike tire inner tube strapped around my mid section.
I need to start saving for the dentist – I love my kids, I really do, but if their teeth are supposed to resemble what Pottery Barn children teeth look like, we’re in for some long hours in the chair under the gas.
My pitbull sucks – Good families have Golden Retrievers. Those dogs are perfectly clean, sit besides the couch quietly, and do not lick their own anuses. My dog rolls in what I think must be rabbit feces but could just be her own poop, licks my face and mouth with a tongue that has seen the dark side of the moon, and bites neighborhood kids.
I drink like a pussy – Real men have a crystal decanter of scotch on every table in their house. They have it in their living room, dining room and bathroom. In the shower usually. I have no scotch. My wife makes me drink white wine. We don’t even have matching wine glasses from Wal-Mart. Sometimes (all the time) we drink out of plastic.
I’m poor – If I were rich, I could afford to buy non-sensical crap like a 6-foot plane propeller that apparently you just lean against a wall for some fucking reason, a carpet for Thanksgiving that you swap out for a new one on Christmas and then another new one to celebrate Valentine’s day, or candle holders the size of my children. But I’m poor, so I haven’t replaced the carpet my pit bull shit on two months ago.
Thanks, Pottery Barn. Happy Holidays. I hope you die.
P.S. – Restoration Hardware, you’re on my shitlist too.
2 thoughts on “My Disappointing Life – Thanks to Pottery Barn”
Best post ever!!!! Gotta go. My wine is getting warm in my plastic cup while my dog shits on yet another old rug.