The pool I don’t have

There’s nothing like the Frontgate catalog to make one feel inferior about one’s house. I can go along for days, months even, feeling happy about my hardwood floors, my cute green kitchen, my decorating choices, and then the Frontgate catalog arrives in the mail and I have to open it. Damn! I still don’t have an infinity pool, or an “outdoor living room” so plush and well-furnished that it needs a rug, or a beautiful winding stone path, handsomely lit by bronze-cast LED sconces. ┬áThen I think, “maybe we should move to North Carolina, where we could maybe afford some of that.” And then I remember that my hair gets really frizzy on the East Coast. So I continue to leaf through the catalog, and then toss it in the recycling bin. (Just kidding. I actually put it in the big basket of magazines on the bathroom floor, where it will sit for another six months, until Ted throws it out when I’m not home.)