Pickles

I’ve come to realize that my perfume reviews are boring. In comparison to other, more sophisticated perfume bloggers, mine seems elementary and basic.

Instead of saying exactly how a perfume smells, I use too many adjectives like ‘lovely’ and ‘beautiful’ and ‘wafting on the wind‘, which honestly don’t tell you anything!

Now, if a particular ‘fume smells like the waxy red dashboard of a 1964 Impala (and you know with certainty what that smells like because you’ve lain across it while drunk out of your mind) with jasmine oil and a scosh of pine poured over it, that’s what I’m going to say.

So, instead of saying it smells ‘unusual’ or ‘twacky’, I’ll elaborate by describing said twacky scent -- say it smells like burning amber incense with a hint of pickles, that’s what you’ll get -- and not just any nameless pickle, either. It'll read bread and butter pickles. Dill pickles. Garlic pickles. Moldy, homemade pickles with a gloss of high octane ethanol and the pungent, cheesy essence of toe jam.

You get what you pay for.