(Thanks to BlogHer Pic Apps for this funny pic of a guy that is bored with the woman who is sniffing. I love it.)

Take me for example. When I was shopping for perfume at 14 (under pressure to leave I might add) I chose Pearls and Lace based solely on the name. Miles down the road I started to cry and beg Mom to please make my brother turn around and let me take the perfume back ‘because I hate it, whaaaa.’ Mom had to lean on Jay, one of my older brothers, to turn around and take me back to Kmart. Finally he did. I ran in with a tear-streaked face and return it for a full refund.

My brother who was extremely funny and had the wonderful yet uncanny ability to peg people spot-on, make a quip about their pitiful downfall and surf out on the waves of laughter that usually followed. Well my friends, this day was no different and this sister was a walk in the park for his talent. After riding in the uncomfortable silence he finally quipped, “The Dr. Ruth of the perfume counter, that’s what she is.”

My mom howled. She has a beautiful musical laugh, but that day it didn’t seem so sunny. She laughed, tried to suck it up to save my feelings, then laughed some more. She may have even peed herself a little… I don’t know. I didn’t know who Dr. Ruth was or what she had to do with perfume. So I asked. Mom said she was a sex therapist. I asked what a sex therapist had to do with perfume.

Jay said, “She doesn’t know shite about sex just like you don’t know shite about buying perfume…”

That was below the belt and way too much for this girl’s fragile teenage hormones. But dead on, none the less. I still haven’t forgiven him.

Twenty years later, perfume is still a demon to me. It’s somthing I think I need because I sorely lack most things that seem lady-like, except curves, but I just can’t seem to get. And this is the year I want to get some for Valentines Day, some that makes Ben go DONG! As my friend discribes it ‘catnip for your mate’. I mean I want something that will make him jump back and kiss himself. Make him bang his head on the ground… ’cause I’m darn sure not going through the homemade G-string thing again. I tell ya that much.

With that in mind I went off in search for cat nip. I brought home no less than seven perfume papers for Ben and I to sniff. When Ben got home for supper we commenced to sniffin’. We did open-eyed sniffs, close-eyed sniffs, blind sniffs, double-blind sniffs and in the end we had decided I was still the Dr. Ruth of the perfume counter and maybe we would be better off putting them around the house like possible paint swatches to be sniffed in different lights and moods. Like a bad test at the doctors office, in a week we should know something.

In the mean time there are quite a few parallels in perfume and alcohol. I must be a perfume lightweight, after two sniffs I’m drunk and they all smell the same. The remedy is simple: drink Sex on the Beach and wear Very Sexy Dare, with names like that they’ve gotta be good.

What do you wear? What is catnip to your soul?

Do share, I need a bone here.

Simply,

Sis