I confess.

I have a confession. It’s bad, I know. I have committed a deadly sin, repeatedly. I feel bad about it but I can’t stop. I do it in the bathroom. No, wait…that sounds bad. Ok here it is…I confess, I covet the J. Jill catalog. I know, I know. It’s awful. And it’s not even the clothes that I want. It’s the idea. Don’t get me wrong. They make some mighty nice clothes. I like that most things are made of natural fabrics and I like the palette they use, mmm…neutrals. But what I really want is that life. That easy, breezy, “just got out of yoga class and got a full workout but never broke a sweat” life. That “just wandering on the prairie before brunch with my beautiful artsy-fartsy friends” life. That “look at this adorable little pigtailed girl that I can play with but I do not need to feed or clothe or send to college, I will pat her head before I continue wandering along this quaint village street with my pink bakery box and sporty bicycle.”

You do notice however, the lack of men in the J. Jill catalog, don’t you? That’s ok though, along with my J. Jill life, I also have a Banana Republic boyfriend. He’s breezy and casual too but in a very sophisticated way. He’s always perfectly rumpled and yet he never looks messy. And in fact, he doesn’t actually BUY his clothes at Banana Republic, he actually gets them all at thrift stores (brand new vintage, old clothes that have never been worn!) and local shops that support the anti-sweatshop philosophy and don’t hurt puppies.

It’s not that I don’t love my life. Despite all the daily aggravations, I really do. But there’s just something about all those mellow colors and cotton blends that makes me jealous. All that artfully windblown hair and hand hammered silver jewelry puts me in a bit of a tizzy and all I can think about is keeping the Santa Fe evening (all their photos have that south west but not at all ethnic look to them) chill off my graceful shoulders with a silk and cotton shrug in “meadowfoam.”

I know. I know. It’s a sickness.