If you've known me long enough you know I have the habit of smelling things. Giving things a little sniff. My last boyfriend wasn't particularly fond of my habitual explorations of my own bodily smells. It's without much surprise that I've found my scent-memory link is very strong. Admittedly I try and catch a whiff of someone's slipstream as they pass by if they look particularly handsome.
I guess I'm a creepy s.o.b.
So you can imagine the ferocity at which I leapt upon the idea of fragrances, presented to me by a college friend. Sure, at the then-age of 23, I'd been in contact with perfumes and artificial scents for quite some time; but they were always so ... acrid. What Jenny had to show me were frrrangrannceeesssss. The type you could only find in two stores across the country, imported from France and Italy. These scents had bases and layers and hints. They were all relatively unisex, so Jenny and I, along with the two guys who hung around the apartment would get stoned and dollop perfume on our wrists and soak in the experience of smell.
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