Oud Khalfan Ajyad
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Horror vacui
What the hell's going on here? Yawning emptiness. Nobody but me?!?! No comment, no statement, not even a rating. Nobody has that on their wish list? Not even on the watch list. Even Boris Becker's better off there. Doesn't anyone here want anything to do with this? All in summer retreat? No destroyer on the way? There's no go-there-all-thousand-fold talker? No I-know-with-it-better-than-the-scented pyramid-smell available? No disturbing evaluations ready? No unicorn story? No holiday memories? Is this all hanging on to me now?
All right, I'll get to work. Neither the bourgeois nor the accountant in me can endure yawning emptiness. Yeah, there's a difference. Now, let's get to work!
In red-brown-gold printed cardboard, full of Arabic decorations and decorative characters, the bottle lands, brought by a sweating messenger, people, outside 30 degrees in the shade, on my desk. A red glass bottle with a brown wooden shield, golden plastic lid and wooden appliqué. Yeah, nice, but not spectacular. I'm more into the thick glass junk. Whatever. Sprayed on. First impression: fresh. Hopla. Fresh rose. Hab´ I now not counted on at these temperatures. Fresh rose and something green. And some pepper. You can carry it. Even at 30 degrees. Hey, it's fun, actually. So, quick, fog it up and out to the ice-cream parlour. It's part of the test. I'll get back to you later.
I just went down the stairs and the wood came up. It's okay. The freshness stays. Probably the vetiver. Until the ice cream parlour there is not much left of. Maybe I overdid it a little with the mist. Strange looks from the people around me. Whatever. Strengthens self-confidence.
Back from the ice cream parlour again. Anybody want to know what it was like? That's cool. And self-confidence increased enormously. The scent is leveled on sweaty tobacco leather. Isn't it in the fragrance pyramid? But it is. Well, the sweat, that's more my ingredient now. But the leather and the tobacco, that's right! No matter what's in the pyramid. Then why are they writing Tonka on it? And vanilla? And the oud? It's proper, for an Arab.
Do you have to have the scent now? Nah. Doesn't bother. And he's quite nice. Why did I buy the scent? It was a blind buy. So now it's not me, it's the purchase. I'm all right. I'm all right. Also with leather and without Tonka.
And now on my own behalf: dear Honk, now that I am the king of Parfumo, you can't say anything!
All right, I'll get to work. Neither the bourgeois nor the accountant in me can endure yawning emptiness. Yeah, there's a difference. Now, let's get to work!
In red-brown-gold printed cardboard, full of Arabic decorations and decorative characters, the bottle lands, brought by a sweating messenger, people, outside 30 degrees in the shade, on my desk. A red glass bottle with a brown wooden shield, golden plastic lid and wooden appliqué. Yeah, nice, but not spectacular. I'm more into the thick glass junk. Whatever. Sprayed on. First impression: fresh. Hopla. Fresh rose. Hab´ I now not counted on at these temperatures. Fresh rose and something green. And some pepper. You can carry it. Even at 30 degrees. Hey, it's fun, actually. So, quick, fog it up and out to the ice-cream parlour. It's part of the test. I'll get back to you later.
I just went down the stairs and the wood came up. It's okay. The freshness stays. Probably the vetiver. Until the ice cream parlour there is not much left of. Maybe I overdid it a little with the mist. Strange looks from the people around me. Whatever. Strengthens self-confidence.
Back from the ice cream parlour again. Anybody want to know what it was like? That's cool. And self-confidence increased enormously. The scent is leveled on sweaty tobacco leather. Isn't it in the fragrance pyramid? But it is. Well, the sweat, that's more my ingredient now. But the leather and the tobacco, that's right! No matter what's in the pyramid. Then why are they writing Tonka on it? And vanilla? And the oud? It's proper, for an Arab.
Do you have to have the scent now? Nah. Doesn't bother. And he's quite nice. Why did I buy the scent? It was a blind buy. So now it's not me, it's the purchase. I'm all right. I'm all right. Also with leather and without Tonka.
And now on my own behalf: dear Honk, now that I am the king of Parfumo, you can't say anything!
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