It started a few days ago when the Pot­tery Barn cat­a­log arrived. What would I want with 199 pages of house­hold decor, most of which is offered in “antique bronze,” “antique nickel,” or “pewter” col­ors? Per­haps I would be inter­ested in a mass-produced fake antique tchotchke with a dis­tressed fin­ish that “looks like an amaz­ing flea-market find”? Or maybe I would buy a $350 “lim­ited edi­tion” dig­i­tal repro­duc­tion of a B&W photo of gal­lop­ing horses. Good God.

Then came the Bar­neys New York denim cat­a­log. That’s 21 pages of gan­gly mod­els show­cas­ing “exl­cu­sively ours!” blue jeans priced between $140 and $325.

How did I get on these mail­ing lists?

Sud­denly I remem­ber my recent pur­chase of a wed­ding gift at the Williams-Sonoma in the super-yuppie Chest­nut Hill mall. There were no bike racks out front, so I locked up to the valet park­ing attendant’s stand. A mall secu­rity guard qui­etly fol­lowed me up the esca­la­tor as I clunked around the stone floor in my cycling shoes. Yes, that must be it. They just failed to note in the com­puter that I’m not one of them.