Sometimes, the best stuff is not very fancy or expensive. Sometimes, the best stuff is understated and barely registers at the conscious level of most people.
I was looking for a perfume for this coming spring/summer season. Yes, I know, we barely got out of the winter season (oh heck, who am I kidding, we’re still deep in the heart of winter). I know I should be steeped in spicy rich scents filled with incense and mur—muir? murrh?….whatever…
Well, I hate incense and myrrh (yes, I had to go to dictionary.com to get the correct spelling. Who in heck would know how to spell such a weird-ass word!?! I have an English degree and I didn’t even get it correct once out of three tries!).
Anyhoo, I found myself, sitting there with an open magazine and all those strips of perfumed paper torn out of the pages, and boy, let me tell you. I was stinking to high heaven! I had rubbed the strips all over myself, trying this scent and that scent.
I must have rubbed about six or eight different strips up and down my arms, and then when I ran out of arm skin space, I started using my knees and my shins. I was sniffing my elbows and my knees, trying to find the least offensive, least disgusting smell out of the chaos. My poor basset hound wandered outside and there he stood because I had filled the house with a myriad of stinky girl smells.
I went and took a shower to get rid of the stench all over my body. Then I went to grab the usual boring perfume I normally use, and then I went outside to take care of some work that needed my attention.
As I went about my day, I got the usual compliments on how pretty my perfume smells and I thanked those who commented, and then I went home, not thinking much about it. I have used the same perfume for so long that I can’t even smell it on me any more. Isn’t that sad? Everyone else around me enjoys it, except for me.
OK. I’m gonna stop moaning about my pathetic little perfume story now. What a drama queen over nothing.