When I was in Boston during February vacation I went to Crate and Barrel. Okay, do I even need to tell you that anymore? (Note to Readers: time in Boston means a trip to C&B. Just as I can’t go an entire weekend without going to CVS, I can’t go to Boston without going to C&B.) I saw a lot that I liked, but I resisted. I walked away without buying a thing. Not the little soy pot, the bamboo chop sticks, the lime green tortilla warmer, the mini melamine bowl set. And I survived. Only I had been thinking about a particular vase since the day I left it on Boylston Street. So I went to find it in
As I made the descent on the escalator from the furniture store to the house wares retail floor and looked at the bright and beautiful displays, I gasped, put my hand on my chest, and as my eyes filled with tears said aloud, “I could weep.” I remind you I was not seeing a palm tree for the first time in my life (for the record, my reaction was similar) or being reunited with my family after a long, drawn out hostage incident (a scenario with which I cannot claim to have any firsthand experience). I was alone, so God is my witness. I can't help it. I [heart] Crate and Barrel. More than might be normal.