At first: Sugar, purple violets, and their leaves all smashed in a plastic blender. Smashed as in drunken.
After 2 hours on the skin:
At first, it just appeared as if the house plant had been hit with something. But then the pink import shoes wiggled, and the scene of mayhem became clear. An import doll with white, purple, and green hair, spoiled with couture doll fashion, had gone on a sugar bender nibbling down Choward's Violet Mints. The vase was broken, the cat was jumpy, and the house plant was severely dented.
Bad dolly.
2007-04-28
2007-04-25
Burberry Brit (for women)
It's an afternoon tea time that starts off with lime custard. The young woman in cream has just eaten a spoonful, and now she's hugging all of her guests, leaving behing chilled custard kisses. Everyone is perfectly charmed, and they find the manicured garden and hedgerow to be absolutely pleasant.
It is, of course, sunny. Not too hot. A smattering of cumulous.
It is, of course, sunny. Not too hot. A smattering of cumulous.
2007-04-24
Amber by Sage EDT
First, there is a Victorian fireplace, with a genuine replica Egyptian cat statuette resting on the mantle, along with a slipper orchid. The embers are the only visual hint that there was once a roaring fire, though the hearth is still warm and relaxing for dance-worn muscles. A woman relaxes, her hair falling out of the careful twist, her dress wrinkled, her lipstick gone. Her hands ripple through the air in memory of the waltzes she has danced. She can feel her cat purring through her little pink toenails.
2007-04-23
Al a Figue by Satellite
California.
It is late afternoon. Violets, reds, and yellows. The sun is yawning, and the young mother's shoulders are hot - unprotected in the sandy sundress. She leans over her child, on the dry and grassy hill. Her arms are brown, unfit, as strong as they need to be. The baby has a potential for dreams to be touched as his mother whispers to him with her sweet breath.
Then it fades.
It is late afternoon. Violets, reds, and yellows. The sun is yawning, and the young mother's shoulders are hot - unprotected in the sandy sundress. She leans over her child, on the dry and grassy hill. Her arms are brown, unfit, as strong as they need to be. The baby has a potential for dreams to be touched as his mother whispers to him with her sweet breath.
Then it fades.
2007-04-22
Affection by Mary Kay (on my skin)
Delicate and strong trees and vines dance gracefully together, furling and unfurling like watercolors in sweet red colored tea. The trees bend slightly when touched, and the thick bark emits a deep, sweet fragrance. There are flowers that chime like bells, and vines that obscure hide-aways trampled and worn into the ground beneath. The sky undulates like cream silk, both clouds and heavens in one. The whole garden grows out of foam egg crate insulation. It is an exotic, unexpected, and surprisingly comfortable place to be.
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