Dear Banana Republic, Victoria’s Secret, Anthropologie, Neiman-Marcus and anyone else whose mailing list I am on:
PLEASE STOP SENDING ME CATALOGS. YOU’RE TORTURING ME.
Seriously, people. There is nothing in your catalogs that I am going to be able to purchase (well, except some slammin’ shoes and killer jewelry) any time in the near future.
I am pregnant, you see. And “pregnant” and “cute, floaty, summery blouses” don’t mix. Neither does rockin’ bikinis, but that’s another discussion.
And, really, it’s not nice to tease me with pictures of cuteness. The fashion and accessory whore inside of me is getting all twisted up and ornary — and that’s good for no one.
So, right about now, if your catalog doesn’t have pictures or information about nursery decoration, linens, the latest in developmental toys or SIDS prevention, you can just save the postage ’cause I ain’t even opening the cover.