Brutal

Have you ever cracked a perfume bottle? Or, worse yet, broken one completely open?
You watch in slow motion as all of that lovely, scented alcohol just POURS out over your hands and shoes and jacket? And all of the sudden something that smelled so divine, so heavenly, so close to perfection that you wanted to shove the spray nozzle up your nostril makes you want to gag and run from the room yelling "FIRE!"? And then the fumes start to swirl around your head and time stands still and you start seeing little dancing monkeys carrying red plastic guitars that play "Freebird?"
No?
I knew those brownies I ate tasted funny...

But somehow one of my favorite perfume bottles cracked while I wasn't paying attention. And now the smell is overwhelming. I used to like it but for the life of me at the moment I can't remember why. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to wear it again! It's brutal. Hence the title of this post.
It reminds me of when I was little. I had this piggy bank that was pink cloth. And the coin slot had this little pink cloth heart that Velcro-ed across it. It was so cute!
One day I decided, for some unknown, forgotten reason, to put some baby powder on top of him. And to this day he smells like baby powder.
And now I, forevermore, will smell like Elizabeth Arden. I know it. I'll be 85 and walking along in the old people's home, somewhere in Bristol, and the guy next to me will say, "I haven't smelled that scent in 55 years!!" He, of course, will smell like creamed corn because that's just what old people tend to smell like. Either that or Polident.
This happened to me once before with my favorite Kenneth Cole perfume too.
Maybe it's a sign.
God likes my natural aroma.
Napoleon used to write home and tell Josephine to stop bathing when he was on his way home from a battle.
That's disgusting. But then they were French.
Anyone know any good recipes for washing one's olfactory organ?