Dearest Darlingest Container Store,

I am not an organized girl. This is evidenced by the piles of junk a store on my desk at home, that leafing through you could be apt to find anything from demagnetized metro tickets, boarding pass stubs from a year ago, receipts from the 7-11 to unpaid credit card bills and grocery lists from food obsessions past (nothing but soy products and organic veggies? Right, that must have been from my "return to veganism" week). But something happened between us yesterday that we cannot deny. Oh, Container Store! You looked so fetching with your bright overheads and your shiny new organizational items, beckoning to me in their jaunty party clothes. Orange coat hangers for 29 cents a piece? I'll take 10. A hanging shelf for my closet to store my sweaters in, which would otherwise be crumpled on a chair somewhere? SOLD! Oh my, laundry hampers, how does a girl choose?

Container Store, this was not our first meeting. We've run into one another before, yet I have shyly backed away, figuring that I, a girl who doesn't even bother to renew her drivers license when her wallet is stolen, could never be good enough for the likes of you. You, darling, with your rows upon rows of vessels dedicated to meticulously cataloging the minutia that I normally let fall on the floor and roll under something when it falls out of my pockets when I undress at night. I simply figured that I was not worthy.

But there's something there between us now Container Store, a certain frission, would you not agree? Oh how I pray that this is not a passing fancy. I am falling for you and your almost grotesque dedication to obsessive compulsive conspicuous consumption and your pathological preoccupation with clean, shiny, gorgeous surfaces. I honestly don't know how I will be able to keep up. Will I succumb to a life of hyper organization, at last understanding what purposes your offerings exist to serve? Or will ours be a short-lived fling before I ditch you for my usual life of chaos and random piles? We will simply need faith, my darling.

Yours, at least for now, HP