Monday, March 14, 2005

A Curious Juxtapostion

On Friday night, Gloria and I went to "Crate and Barrel."

Crate and Barrel is an upscale store that sells something. I'm not exactly sure what. It seemed to be a bit of everything in four colors: ice blue, lime green, orange orange, and lemon yellow. If you buy one thing there, you have to buy ten others to match, because you're not finding those colors anywhere else.

It's a very nice, meticulously merchandised store, but it's so perfect that it seems shallow. If the Stepford Wives designed a retail store, it would be Crate and Barrel, I think.

They have furniture upstairs, and we wandered up there because Gloria was looking for a bathroom. I was sort of idly wandering around and started reading the descriptions attached to the furniture.

Marketing is a beautiful thing.

I burst out laughing when I read the first description. They were so hopelessly pompous and overbearing that it made my heart sing a little song.

My heart does that. I'm not sure you knew.

So I walked around some more and read a few more absolutely endearing descriptions of wicker baskets evoking the Renaissance masters. You know, stuff like that. Then I saw a small, round table, and here was the attached description:
Weathering the test of time, zinc urns and planters have earned a venerated spot in formal European gardens. Borrowing the bulbous forms and aged patina from these well admired predecessors, this table, used indoors or out, is pregnant with possibility.

Pregnant? What irresponsible piece of furniture did this?

He probably took advantage of her insecurities about her bulbous form.

I decided to track down the bastard, even if it took another five to ten minutes.

Less than ten feet away, there was a long dining room table. Here was the first sentence of its description (and I am not making this up):
Accuse us of cherry-picking, but we chose only the best when creating Sheffield.

Well, at least they've got a name for the baby.

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