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I want to rest here and grow!
Oh how hard it is for scents to have to live according to point values (only the ladybugs seem to have a similar [in]skill painted on the Gregor-samsaesque body). Irrmeinungen, Wirrmeinungen, Kirrmeinungen ...
Whichever shrewd druid may have mixed the fragrance together, he knew the moon under which one should take some essences from the fairy forest most mildly. For the mix is so exceedingly clean, not a pinch of rot, not a fathom of broken wood, nothing noxious, no fermentation of anything, hardly any manure, little industrial fertilizer.
Plucked clean of dragons, demons and Tolkienian darkness: this is a great place to play golf - such a beautiful English lawn, trimmed to matchstick shorteness! Or stand on your head and walk a few steps on your hands. The inclined reader notices: a perfume also for elves or who want to become one.
Possibly I do not smell the forest before trees, but firmly stood and storm and winds braved, that must have been truly quite elsewhere! What someone's coarser Waidmannslust probably expectedly dims down.
'Bvlgari Man Wood Essence' has nowhere near the needle-piercing penetrance of 'Pino', not the 'Go!'-Power of Joop, not the herbal brew of a Ted Lapidus ... Rather, the fragrance is a lizard, because you only cover short sections and in the middle of the run and run with jerky sideways stretched head and in meandering movement ("Do I still smell something? Do I still smell something??"), then more rigid, frozen, is slowed down. At every fork in the road must be hastily re-sprayed!
Fortunately (?) I call the gift set with cosmetic bag, after shave balm and the generous 100ml tank my own, by the way, in a chic, coronal wanderlust-inducing travel case design. St. Remo, we come then maybe 2025!? Green in the luggage. Both the color of hope and the frost nature.
Whichever shrewd druid may have mixed the fragrance together, he knew the moon under which one should take some essences from the fairy forest most mildly. For the mix is so exceedingly clean, not a pinch of rot, not a fathom of broken wood, nothing noxious, no fermentation of anything, hardly any manure, little industrial fertilizer.
Plucked clean of dragons, demons and Tolkienian darkness: this is a great place to play golf - such a beautiful English lawn, trimmed to matchstick shorteness! Or stand on your head and walk a few steps on your hands. The inclined reader notices: a perfume also for elves or who want to become one.
Possibly I do not smell the forest before trees, but firmly stood and storm and winds braved, that must have been truly quite elsewhere! What someone's coarser Waidmannslust probably expectedly dims down.
'Bvlgari Man Wood Essence' has nowhere near the needle-piercing penetrance of 'Pino', not the 'Go!'-Power of Joop, not the herbal brew of a Ted Lapidus ... Rather, the fragrance is a lizard, because you only cover short sections and in the middle of the run and run with jerky sideways stretched head and in meandering movement ("Do I still smell something? Do I still smell something??"), then more rigid, frozen, is slowed down. At every fork in the road must be hastily re-sprayed!
Fortunately (?) I call the gift set with cosmetic bag, after shave balm and the generous 100ml tank my own, by the way, in a chic, coronal wanderlust-inducing travel case design. St. Remo, we come then maybe 2025!? Green in the luggage. Both the color of hope and the frost nature.
1 Comment
More of it !