The last thing I do before heading downstairs and yelling at children to get dressed is to douse myself in a little perfume. My go-to for about twelve years is 'Romance,' by Ralph Lauren. My husband gave me my first bottle of it the night before we were married, along with a necklace.
(I gave him the 'Indiana Jones' box set, and the first three 'Harry Potter' novels. Our tastes are different, his and mine.)
I wore both the perfume and the necklace on my wedding day, and then throughout our honeymoon. Well, and during the ensuing twelve (nearly thirteen!) years of bliss, of course.
My second bottle arrived as a Christmas gift this past year. Yes, it took me twelve years to go through one bottle of scent. I know that seems like a long time, but honestly, I do not bathe in perfume. Two sprays and I'm done for the day And, after each of my three babes were born, I took a year-long break from perfume because I didn't want them to confuse Mama's natural scent with 'Romance,' and then have them try to hug the spray lady at Macy's.
Despite the breaks, I always come back to 'Romance.' It's lovely. Anyway, that second bottle? As I've only had it for nine months, it was nearly full.
Was. WAS nearly full.
I fumbled the bottle this morning. You know what doesn't go well together? If you said plaid and paisley, YOU ARE CORRECT! A very close second, though, is glass and marble.
See, for some reason, I decided that I really only needed one hand to yank the cap off of the bottle and spray the perfume. I don't know why I thought I had the dexterity to perform this task, as I have never, ever done it before. Also? I don't know why I felt it was vital to keep clutching that pair of socks in my left claw, like, 'if I put these socks down the morning schedule is jacked. Must maintain rigor mortis-like grasp on socks.'
But, that is the choice I made, and oops, there goes the bottle and it crashed into the marble top of the sink and I hope that it OH MY GOD IT SPLIT IN TWAIN AND THERE IS PERFUME EVERYWHERE.
So there's me in my bathroom, looking like I'm doing a footwork drill, trying to figure out how to accomplish the twin goals of (a) cleaning up the cascade of perfume before it has a chance to flow onto the carpet below, and (b) save the drops of liquid cowering in the jaggedy bottom of the bottle.
Finally, I put the Dark Crystal-ish shard I was clenching in the bowl of the sink, snatched a rag and mopped up the 'Romance' bleeding from the other half of the bottle. During the clean-up, I managed to lean against a puddle of 'Romance,' and hey, did you know that perfume stains like greasy french fries? No? Well, consider knowledge officially DROPPED on you.
The result of all of this is that:
1) I have a smidgen of 'Romance' contained in a generic shampoo travel bottle;
2) I have a shirt that will now be worn only during painting chores;
3) My bathroom and bedroom now smell like a middle-class bordello.
At least there's something I can put on my Christmas list this year...
(I gave him the 'Indiana Jones' box set, and the first three 'Harry Potter' novels. Our tastes are different, his and mine.)
I wore both the perfume and the necklace on my wedding day, and then throughout our honeymoon. Well, and during the ensuing twelve (nearly thirteen!) years of bliss, of course.
My second bottle arrived as a Christmas gift this past year. Yes, it took me twelve years to go through one bottle of scent. I know that seems like a long time, but honestly, I do not bathe in perfume. Two sprays and I'm done for the day And, after each of my three babes were born, I took a year-long break from perfume because I didn't want them to confuse Mama's natural scent with 'Romance,' and then have them try to hug the spray lady at Macy's.
Despite the breaks, I always come back to 'Romance.' It's lovely. Anyway, that second bottle? As I've only had it for nine months, it was nearly full.
Was. WAS nearly full.
I fumbled the bottle this morning. You know what doesn't go well together? If you said plaid and paisley, YOU ARE CORRECT! A very close second, though, is glass and marble.
See, for some reason, I decided that I really only needed one hand to yank the cap off of the bottle and spray the perfume. I don't know why I thought I had the dexterity to perform this task, as I have never, ever done it before. Also? I don't know why I felt it was vital to keep clutching that pair of socks in my left claw, like, 'if I put these socks down the morning schedule is jacked. Must maintain rigor mortis-like grasp on socks.'
But, that is the choice I made, and oops, there goes the bottle and it crashed into the marble top of the sink and I hope that it OH MY GOD IT SPLIT IN TWAIN AND THERE IS PERFUME EVERYWHERE.
So there's me in my bathroom, looking like I'm doing a footwork drill, trying to figure out how to accomplish the twin goals of (a) cleaning up the cascade of perfume before it has a chance to flow onto the carpet below, and (b) save the drops of liquid cowering in the jaggedy bottom of the bottle.
Finally, I put the Dark Crystal-ish shard I was clenching in the bowl of the sink, snatched a rag and mopped up the 'Romance' bleeding from the other half of the bottle. During the clean-up, I managed to lean against a puddle of 'Romance,' and hey, did you know that perfume stains like greasy french fries? No? Well, consider knowledge officially DROPPED on you.
The result of all of this is that:
1) I have a smidgen of 'Romance' contained in a generic shampoo travel bottle;
2) I have a shirt that will now be worn only during painting chores;
3) My bathroom and bedroom now smell like a middle-class bordello.
At least there's something I can put on my Christmas list this year...
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