Cabotine Grès 1990 Eau de Parfum

Cabotine came onto the market when many users here weren't even born yet. 34 years ago! I'm delighted that it's still around and has hardly been changed. Reformulation and all. You know what I mean. I love such green things, especially when spring is approaching. Then my Orientals go on a hike. They go to the back of the shelf. But it's still February, so they're waiting in the wings for now. From March onwards, things will get serious and the chypres will also make a move, namely to the front. Movement has never done any fragrance any harm.
Oh well, what's 34 years? Time marches on and at some point you realize that it is marching over your face. You can also recognize the beginning of the aging process when you still have the imprints of the pillow on your cheeks at noon. Even a cucumber mask won't help. I wouldn't recommend Botox, because then you might not be able to close your mouth again.
So, now to Cabotine. Fancy a bit of fantasy? Fantasy has never done anyone any harm.
At the edge of a forest clearing, the forest spirits Husch and Wusch are sitting on a fallen tree. They observe the surroundings and everything that creeps, flies, blooms, smells, rattles and rattles.
Husch : " Look over there by the stream! There she is, the green water nymph Splash. I'm thrilled!"
Wusch: "Yes, it smells all the way over here again, green, herbaceous, berry. I would really like to ghost around there."
The elf Flora flutters over the two of them and over the forest meadow at Mach 3 (approx. 3700 kmh), waving her magic wand. She mumbles to herself, drunk on dew, and gives the two tots on the tree trunk a grim look and calls out: "What are you doing here at this time of night? Isn't it ghost time at night?" It goes plop, spring flowers bloom, plop, summer flowers, plop exotic flowers.
Flora dusts everything with iris powder. Unsweet and jagged. The lawn glistens emerald green.
Wusch (dazed): "I think I've swallowed spiritual drinks. This orgy of flowers. I'm getting all dizzy."
Husch rolls his eyes as if he's been smoking something and musk animals and vanilla balls fly past in his mind's eye.
They are abruptly torn from their dreams. The Grinch is crouching on a dilapidated high seat and throwing cedar needles and sandalwood shavings. He shrieks: "This is not Tendre Poison!"
The two ghosts look completely dumbfounded and then shout in unison :" We know that, but it's the older sister. She's a bit more tomboyish and not so tendre. You green arm candy up there, go annoy Santa Claus or we'll blow vetiver up your butt until green angels fly out of your ass!"
Want to know where this clearing is? Then take a sniff of Cabotine!