today on zulily

Since a certain friend of mine (i.e. Lily's mom) introduced me to Zulily, it's become the one site from which I receive a daily promotional email that I DON'T delete without opening.  I'm neither a Mom, Baby, or Kid, but either the internet-world-wide-webs doesn't know that or Zulily is spending a stupid amount of money on advertising because I swear, lately, there's been a banner ad on nearly every site I visit.

I've yet to purchase anything; I was deeply chagrined to have missed the boat on the Melissa & Doug alphabet stamp set I wanted and I never worked up the nerve to buy the discounted-but-still-expensive pair of shoes I coveted a few weeks ago. The books/games/toys/etc I peruse in a professional capacity and the Mom stuff in a female capacity and, the baby clothes?

Okay... the perusing of the baby clothes is marginally an exercise in uterus-wrenching sadomasochism. I fully recognize that to maintain a "hope chest" of baby accessories (a la Julia Roberts' BFF in Eat Pray Love*) is not something I can justify either financially or emotionally at this point in my life.  (As the same friend pointed out, if/when I have a child, the world will still be full of adorable baby clothes.)

So instead of buying, blogging; I can blog about all the uber-cute kids' stuff that I'd buy if I could.

This inaugural post, however, will be an exception to the rule.

Note the above ensemble? Due in large part, no doubt, to its presence on the site's front page, the raincoat is all gone. But the umbrella and boots are still available. You'd think I'd love this, right? Fits in perfectly with my favorite color scheme.

No. NO. My first thought when I saw it?

That's right. "Cruella de Vil, Cruella de Vil, if she doesn't scare you, no evil thing will." Or rather, Glenn Close in the guise of Cruella de Vil.

As far as I'm concerned, not a good look, particularly for the preschool set.

 Why? Subject of a later post: Barbies that SHOULD not exist.

 P.S. If you're looking to become addicted to Zulily too, ask yours truly for an invite.

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I chose this picture to be color-coordinated.
Also for the eye candy

* Zzzzzzzzzzz. Way to take an awesome book and turn it into a mediocre, disjointed snoozefest. Dear Javier Bardem, thanks for showing up and making this movie suck slightly less. Dear Hollywood - go ahead, continue to make bestsellers into movies if you must... but please take extra special care with the non-fiction ones.

this will soon be mine!!!!

From Knappies on Etsy. I've become quite enamored of the wristlet Emily let me borrow for my trip, but it's not quite big enough to be functional. Voila, problem solved.

This will soon be mine too, but it's way less exciting. Although I opted for black because I plan on adding my little ladybug patches to it somewhere, if possible. Are we noticing a color theme here?

VERA: vintage ladybug love

 I'm a little behind the times in my sadomasochistic perusal of the Anthropologie catalog - what with my change of address and all. This ladybug rug appeared in the catalog a number of months ago, but is still readily available on the website.

Thick-pile wool-silk, inspired by the iconic lucky charm of the legendary Vera. Each rug is handtufted and exclusive to Anthropologie.

• Wool, silk; cotton backing
• Professionally clean
• 8' square
• Imported

And the price? A cool $1,698.00 (Though only $20 for shipping, which all things considered, seems like a steal.)

Here's the thing: I covet it not; what, pray tell, would I do with a ladybug rug that cost so much I'd be afraid to put so much as a toe on it?  But I WAS intrigued as to who/what Vera is/was, what with it being "legendary" and all.  (Despite my near-obsessive love affair with the Anthropologie catalog,  I'm about as far from a fashionista as is possible without being a nudist, so I won't apologize for my ignorance on this point.)  Not Vera Wang. DEFINITELY not Vera Bradley. The original Vera, Vera Neumann.