Givenchy III Givenchy 1970 Eau de Toilette

I don't know about you, but for me the most mysterious and enthralling place in the house I grew up, was always my mother's chiffonier. Everything on it looked like it came straight from a fairy tale, or from the far-flung palaces of the Far East. Especially the small collection of her perfumes. I was totally convinced there was a genie living in one of the bottles, waiting to grant my wish and make me a grown-up in no time. All I had to do was finding out in which one it dwelled. So one of my most daredevil antics was to secretly infiltrate my parents' bedroom and dab myself with whatever was lying within my reach. My "commando" tacticts were of course immediately exposed upon exiting the room, cause the monsters my mother was keeping in there were traitorous enough to give me away every single time.
My mother was always giving me funny looks after each accomplished mission, but I fancied they were about my glasses being dirty or my hair being uncombed.
Until one accursed Saturday evening, a huge 240ml splash bottle of Givenchy III decided it had enough of abuse, and tried to kill itself by falling from my hands. It failed. I dont know if you've ever handled such a bottle, but rest assured its glass is thick enough to stop a bullet. My mother came flying upon hearing the thud and found me aghast, with the golden stopper still in my hand, watching half of the golden soul of Givenchy III escaping its body and speading on the floor. The other half was already spilled on my clothes. Although I was sure a legendary chiding was seconds away from being yelled at poor me, she didn't say a word. What she did however, was leaving me with the perfume reeking clothes on for the rest of the weekend. Till Sunday night I was 1000% sure that I would prefer having my 8 years old butt kicked and be spared the olfactory torture. It felt like I was tied for ages with mossy ropes to an oak, while green devils wearing gardenia leis were frenziedly dancing all around me, poking me with pointy sandalwood sticks and throwing orris roots (with all the dirt still attached) on my face. I was seriously pondering over begging my mother for a beating in exchange of a bath. But not being stoical enough, I just asked for the bath. She replied "Why? I love the way you smell!".
Amnesty was finally granted at late Sunday night. I felt like a sinner been cleansed from all his wrongdoing. After she scrubbed me redder than a beetroot, my mother left me standing ecstatic in the bathtub and went to bring a towel. When she came back and approached me I threw my hands happily around her neck in order to kiss her and show her my gratitude. Imagine my horror upon realising that she was the one reeking with Givenchy III now...

Many years later I found a very old 60ml splash bottle of Givenchy III in a tiny backstreet shop. I guess the nice lady behind the desk is still wondering what my huge smile while buying it was all about...