It soon became sorely apparent that my habit of mainlining patchouli oil was ruining the precarious façade of our newfound social dignity. In this pursuit, I decided it was time to pick a new signature scent. I finally settled on a spicy perfume, and began wearing it like a kevlar sheild. I bought the spray, the bath gel, the lotion, and even the perfume stick, for those touch-ups when I was on the go. I flaunted my kicky aroma for several months before Kevin gently broke the news.
Honey? Sweetiepie? Love Of My Life? Darling, I have bad news. Please don't take this the wrong way. I adore the spaces between your toes and the lint of your navel, but I can not bear, for a single second more, the caustic smell coming off your skin.
So, I pretended like I saw it coming. I was all cool. Oh, pumpkin-baby-cutie, how could I take that the wrong way? The $500 investment in this signature scent is nothing, Nothing!, compared to the preference of your nose. Though, secretly, I wept like a child. And felt sorely embarrassed as I imagined him choking and gagging every time he caught whiff of me.
We then entered Dark Times. I realized that without a scent, I was just a sophisticate-wannabe. Thus began our collaborative quest to find a new signature scent, one that would realign the stars and restore the hum of The Universe. Unfortunately, we never agreed on the miracle aroma. The issue has yet to be resolved. We've come close to finding perfumes that I adore and he doesn't despise, but I usually tire of the smell within a few weeks.
On Friday night, Kevin came home smelling of another woman. As he walked past me to sit at the kitchen table, I was overwhelmed with the her scent. I immediately followed him, my nose to his jacket, sniffing out the perfume.
He admitted that, yes, he spent time with a female co-worker. And, yes, she smelled intoxicatingly goooooood. Now, I've been known to stop strangers to ask them what they're wearing. But, is it appropriate for me to ask Kevin to ask his co-worker? Because, that opens a whole can of uncomfortable worms. Given a choice between a good smell and good manners, which is more important?
Believe it or not, I've been worrying about this all weekend. Something as compleeeeeetely insignificant as this has my brain buzzing. As though this is the missing piece to my puzzle. And, then, I start thinking that perhaps it is. Seriously. What good am I, if you can't sniff me out from across a room?
Oh, I sincerely look forward to the day that I don't care what I look like, what I sound like, or what I smell like...the day I let it all go...the day my brain stops fritzing...the day I stop caring about what I can't control...the day I stick my tongue out - and mean it...the day I get a grip...the day I lose myself in beauty...the day I realize I should live with more abandon...the day you find me rolling like a wet cat on gravel...that will be the happiest day of my life.
Scent is a hard one. I remember being in high school and wearing horrible, horrible perfumes - you know, the ones in the half off bin, because I was a poor, poor little person.
Then, while I was in university, I got a job in cosmetics at Shopper's Drug Mart. Colour me happy when I realized that the discount they offered was close to half off the ticketed sales price (i.e. an $85 bottle of perfume would be around $40). This gave me a lot of time to experiment.
I've come across some really bad smelling things, but the best ones as far as I'm concerned are 'Premiere Jour' by Nina Ricci and 'Romance' by Ralph Lauren.
Good luck on the search!
-Kristilyn
Posted by: Kristilyn | on March 20, 2006 02:46 PM