scent of a snickerdoodle

a real tough cookie

Perfumes at Grand Bazaar, Istanbul (Slyronit via Wikimedia Commons)

About once a year, I decide it’s time for me to “get into” perfume. The thought that it’s time to “get into” perfume has only gotten more persistent now that most of my old indulgences (alcohol, pizza, nice cheese) are forbidden to me. Like… what’s my dumb indulgence, now that I can’t spend money I don’t have on new kinds of gin? Am I just supposed to… not spend money I don’t have?

But the list of non-food-based indulgences is slim pickings. Anything really indulgent when it comes to bedding and towels is unaffordable (and anyway, I don’t need either). Clothes are great, of course, but the shipping on Poshmark and TheRealReal adds up fast. I don’t really wear makeup (aside from lipstick, sometimes), nail polish is tedious, and there’s a limit to how much Coke Zero even I can drink. Thus, perfume.

And I feel like I should like wearing perfume.¹ In my mind, it’s like ah… I shall become a woman of sophistication. Like Bianca…