When you give a moron free perfume (the moron being me; mild)

The BBQ Pit
1

When I was young and life was merry, I usually wore perfume. I wore Debbie Gibson’s Electric Youth. I freely admit it. As I grew older I came to dislike strong scents (I started to become headachey and eye-burny whenever I was around them), and downgraded to light body sprays.

Did I remember the headachey and eye-burny thing when I was getting ready for work last night? Oh, how I wish I had.

One of my co-workers flogs cosmetics in her spare time for a company that rhymes with “Jesus Christ, my eyelids are swelling shut! Aaagh! Verily, OH NO!!” Anyway, a few days ago she gave me a perfume sample, which I tucked into my purse and forgot about. Last night I remembered it and pulled it out to take a sniff.

Gently I peeled down a corner of the foil packet and wafted it near my nose. The aroma was not overpowering at all, kind of flowerish with a bit of spiceish and maybe some light vanillaish thrown in. My nose hairs didn’t crisp and I didn’t fall over backwards from the stench, which is what usually happens when I’m accosted by perfume, so I thought maybe I’d put some on. Dab, dab, once on the left wrist and once on the right with the little perfume soaked cotton pad. Then out the door and off to work I went.

Shortly into my shift it became apparent that the little cotton pad was not soaked with light fresh smelling perfume as I had thought. It was soaked with nothing more or less than Pure Evil, a highly scented demonic personality that fed on my very soul and grew, like The Blob, until my clothes, my hair, and every inch of my skin was saturated with its foul presence. I went to the bathroom and attempted to exorcise the flowery hell-imp from my wrists with scalding water and industrial strength skin-peeling soap, but to no avail; the stench had permeated every pore and fiber of my body and there was no escape. Then I noticed a small scratch on my right wrist; I have no idea how it got there, but it’s worrying.

I suspect the Evil gained entry to my body via this scratch and has burrowed into my skull, where he is burning potpourri on a large bonfire and banging on an anvil while cackling in fiendish delight.

Yep. I’m headachey and eye-burny and also, apparently, a complete idiot.

2

This is how it starts. Soon you will be uncontrollably driven to spritz people with perfume in department stores, or start selling the stuff out of your car. How do you think your co-worker got started? Just one little scratch…

Oh, and I love the flowery hell-imp imagery!

3

I’d respond to this thread but my eyes are burning too much from the smell. :slight_smile:

4

Thankfully, due to modern industry regulations and quality control, most perfume is moron-free.

5

I did that to myself today. My eyes are burning as I type and no amount of Visine will clear the redness. I probably look like I smoked a doobie on my lunch break. :smiley:

6

Ah, but due to bloody stupid absent-mindedness, not all morons are perfume-free.

7

Ugh, I get that same reaction from perfume. That’s why I hate walking through department stores and such. Half the time they don’t even ask before they grace you with their stench.

8

Snappity, you need to try out my way of dealing with the perfume people. I’m allergic to a lot of the ingredients; one sniff of some of that stuff and my eyes are watering, my skin is breaking out, and I’m wheezing. For this reason, I try not to breathe when going through the perfume/cosmetics area of department stores. If I’m accosted by The Sprayers, I use my best I’m-holding-my-breath voice and say, “No thanks, I’m allergic. Perfumes cause me to, um, die.” Then I start wheezing (sometimes it’s fake, sometimes it’s not), and they can’t get out of my way fast enough. I’ve never had anyone spray me without asking, but if they did, I’d fall to the floor, clawing at my face and throat and wheezing, then gasp out, “I’m allergic to perfumes.” Melodramatic, yes, but I daresay it would only take one such performance to break them of that annoying little habit.

9

Look on the bright side: you could smoke a doobie on your lunch break, and you wouldn’t look any different than you do now.

It’s a win/win!

10

I spent that whole night looking like I’d smoked a big fattie. Not a good look to have when you work with cops. :smiley:

11

Don’t mind the camera crew behind you. They’re just waiting for you to be sprayed, then they’ll go away. Promise.

12

That’s one good thing about my mother’s oversensitivity to scents- she mandates that we throw out all scent samples in magazines the minute they enter the house, and none are allowed to come home from stores. She has saved me from this Great Evil.