29 Things That Make Me Happy: Perfume

Day 18...

Perfume

I'm actually fairly surprised that it's taken me 18 days to get to something as simple as perfume. I LOVE perfume, there's just no other way to put it. I don't know how or where or when it started but there's just something about smelling good and sweet that makes me happy. Is it weird to say that my perfume also reflects my mood a lot? Or at least where I'm going. There's YSL Parissiene for when I'm feeling all ladylike, Armani Si for when I want something sweeter and stronger. YSL Black Opium for those times when I feel daring and very flirtatious and a host of other scents.

Those of you who are familiar with the blog would know that I started and failed to finish a small experiment called "Scent Stories" where I wrote a short story on 7 scents that I currently owned. I got to 4 and then either life got in the way or I lost inspiration but I'm not going to let myself start something and not finish, even if it's months later. So I think it's apt that today I release number 5 of 7 "Coco Mademoiselle"

If you want to read the other ones find them here: Attimo, Si, La Petite Robe Noire, Candy

What's your favourite perfume? And do you have different scents for different occasions?

Scent Stories: Si

My girlfriend once asked me to describe what I found most attractive about her. We had only ben dating for six months at the time and truth be told, I was at a loss for words. I wasn't sure how she would respond if I told her the truth. That I liked the way her naturally curly hair frazzled again as soon as she was done straightening it. Or whether I should admit to her that I loved the way she smelt after she showered and had a fag like she did every morning. The combination of shower gel, body cream and tobacco binding into an impossible to describe smell that turned my head this way and that. Or even that I loved her smile and her laugh; loved to see the way that her full lips parted to reveal the gap in her teeth where no doubt she had hidden my heart. I could not admit to her all those things, no matter how true. It had only been six months!! and I was not usuallly one to fall in love so fast. So instead I looked at her and said with what I imagined to be a cheeky boyish grin "Your arse." She was not amused. Her mood dropped from 100 to subzero and no matter how hard I pleaded, teased and joked, she was not having it. She curled up on a sofa with a book, pretending to be deeply engaged but I knew she was hurt. I was again at a loss for words, well not really.. but to reveal my true feelings would be to make myself vulnerable to her. A scary feeling that I was sure I never wanted to experience. Luckily I eventurlly won her back with charm and pleading and joking and teasing. That was another thing I loved about her; her headstrongness if that's even a word. It was sometimes all too easy to forget how stubborn she was and how she sometimes held on to things a little too long. Such was the sweetness of her that small flaws could easily be ignored.

It's been three and a half years since she asked me that question and with everyday that passes I wish she would ask me again, just so that I can admit to her my innermost feelings. Of course she knows I love her, no one in their right mind could doubt that. We're walking through a park now enjoying the cool autumn's breeze and sighting a good spot to sit down for a picnic. She looks beautiful as always and keep scolding me for putting my hands in my pockets instead of around her waist where they should be. If only she knew the weight of what I was struggling to conceal. We ate under the shade of a tree, its leaves starting to turn the colours of sunrises and sunsets. I turned to face her and look into her eyes, the moment felt right. I was completely ready to let the vulnerability in, to fall into her like the leaves gently floating down from the autumn trees. I told her I found her hair attractive and I loved her laugh and her scent drove me insane but most of all I told her that I was sure I wanted to spend the rest of my entire life with her. I asked her to be my wife, right there and then under the oak tree, sitting face to face. Me with the ring finally free from my pocket and her with her brown eyes turning a liquid gold with tears. Her answer was a simple whispered "Si". So soft I almost missed it.

Scent Stories: La Petit Robe Noire

She slinks across the room, not one foot after another like all the other common folk around her. No. She glides on the surface of the dirty woodwork, barely making a sound, nothing short of feline. Whenever she begins to move, everyone round her stops, conversations dissipate and turn into whispers. Those who watch her usually start starting at her from the bottom up, defying gravity. Her legs always seem to stretch on for miles and miles. Legs that start with red-painted toe nails on dainty little feet in sky high heels. If you so happened to be directly in her path, she looked to you like a living Barbie doll; long legs, slim waist slightly pinched inwards in the middle and long birdlike graceful arms adorned only with the simplest jewellery. A watch and a bracelet maybe. Hardly any more. Her hair was left to do as it pleased, intentional beach wave curls to give the illusion of one who did not take to much time to reach such a high level of sophistication. Her features all seemed so small and dainty. All except her eyes which seemed to be like a dam, holding back a river full of secrets. Everyone watched her when she walked through the clubs, dancers ceasing their up-tempo, off-beat gyrations and giving way, the air filled with both envy and desire. She rarely ever speaks, just looks out onto the world with those river dam eyes.

Should you ever have the chance to stop her, to be near enough to her to speak with her without her entourage cutting in then there's only one question worth asking; "How does something so beautiful survive in such a dark place?" To which she might answer "There's always the faint hint of something pungent, even in the sweetest of smells." Or she might look upon you with her full kohl-lined eyes and show you that sweetness is just a facade, yielding to many more layers carefully covered up. And still, she might ignore you, pretend she never heard your question. Long after she is gone, you might find yourself wondering if the encounter was even real, did you really see the infamous club owners daughter? Her petit robe noire et talons hauts? Maybe you did maybe you didn't, for she is gone as silently as she came, never lingering but always the same.