Fuck Me Tender G Parfums 2019

I don't want to comment on the name. I curse like a sailor; in our living room, there's a street sign that says "F***-you Alley," and I see low forms of language and swear words as a way to release aggression. I have plenty of reasons for it, and I practice this therapy regularly.
Another form of therapy, an antidote to the bitter seriousness of life, has become the simple, sweet scents for me. Dessert to spray on, quick olfactory carbohydrates. I don't want to conduct an analysis if I'm not being paid for it, not at home, not in my free time.
I want the lightness of marshmallow in my head, to hear "Mom, you smell delicious," instead of being reproached at an unholy 6:45 with "That smells very perfumey."
No damn analysis, no reflection, and no scent that suggests "Noblesse oblige, turn off Netflix, better read Ulysses again or at least Foucault's Pendulum, carry me, the highly intellectual composition with the distinguished notes of burning tires and mothballs."
And "Fuck me tender" fits such days.
Simply to love. Simply to wear. Don't start an inner debate. I switch off and register, extremely pleased, weightless thoughts:
-Oh, smells like heliotrope in Grandma's garden. And a bit like butterfly bush. And the color is the same. And suddenly I'm in my childhood on the peninsula that later turned out to be Pandora's box and... away, away with these thoughts. Marshmallow, Katharina, today you are marshmallow with almond milk flavor.
-Oh, smells a bit like Fleur du Mâle, which I love so much on her. Innocent white flowers united in a bouquet that shouldn't be left near a novice. Baudelaire's flowers of evil, indeed.
-Hm, Alien? Yes, the hated Alien is suddenly tame and even attractive, has reined in its nuclear jasmine, adorned it with orange blossom, and made it a bit more human. Not that this is always a compliment for me.
-Almond milk marshmallow turns into amarettinis, those soft, fluffy, cyanide-laden cookies. A bit toxic, a bit intrusive, but delicious. But no more than 3, or else sugar shock and cavities.
And so it goes for about 4-5 hours. Enough time to recover in my inner migration to the good old days, to reclaim a bit of lightness, and not to think so wistfully of Kurt Cobain's words: "Nobody dies a virgin... Life f***s us all."
Ok, but fuck me tender.