I have a house and, like most houses, it's an unfinished work. There are cracks in the paint. There are piles of old clothes and shoes exploding out of the laundry room, which doubles as a storage room because we don't have a storage room. The walls in our bedroom are bare because we haven't had time to hang pictures on them since we moved in 10 years ago. We need a pantry, but don't have one. We just cram cans of food and boxes of pasta into the front hall closet with the coats and shoes because there's nowhere else to put them. We do not have a larder. I don't know what a larder is but it sounds fucking great. It sounds like you keep LARD in it, and that suits me nicely. But for now, this loving house will do, in all its imperfections. I suspect most houses are like this. There's always some goddamn project that needs to get done and never does.
But that is not the kind of home that exists in the Williams-Sonoma universe. The Williams-Sonoma universe is a magical pristine alternate dimension where every room has crown molding and your wife can fart out a perfect red velvet bundt cake in nine seconds flat from her Wolf oven and you are fucking RICH. Just so rich you don't even know what to do with yourself, which is how you end up spending $48 on a tin of peppermint bark. You host fabulous parties with educated neighbors and you eat organic soup out of a tureen hand-crafted by a cedar farmer in Alaska who only makes four of these tureens a year. It's a fabulous world, chock full of copper cookware dangling from stainless steel hooks and a framed picture of Ina Garten in every room, even the parlor!
It is a world designed to make the REAL world feel lifeless and dirty. A thousand years ago, you could have lived in a hut and been happy because you didn't know that life could be any better. But in 21st century America, you are constantly being shown how much better life can be, and that is what makes your life so fucking intolerable.
Anyway, I have received this year's copy of the Williams-Sonoma holiday catalog, and as usual it features a dazzling assortment of shit you can't afford for a house you'll never live in. And yes, there is a fucking chicken coop in here once again (List price: $859 with painted chicken). Let's see what else is inside, shall we?
Item #54-3800760 Williams-Sonoma Snowflake Marshmallows
Williams-Sonoma says: "Fluffy marshmallows are hand cut and individually dusted."
Price: $5.95. Set of four.
Notes: That's six dollars—plus shipping—for four fucking marshmallows. A bag of 50 Jet Puft marshmallows is three bucks at the store. Oh, but these were hand-dusted, which makes all the difference. You can taste when your marshmallows have been dusted by some heartless dustbot. It's a cloying taste, which I why I NEVER serve them at my parties, which are attended by many federal appellate court judges and newspaper barons.