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Puderperle
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39
The village doctor's little chubby daughter
I wanted so much to write a review dripping with melancholy and poetry. Trembling glowing piglets that turn mossy ground into googly-eyed thingamabobs with a veil of smoke and rain down sad sugar. A text that brings tears to the eyes of moved readers and gives comfort to lonely hearts.
But it doesn't work. I just can't do it. Someone always dies in the end. The protagonist, the perfume itself or me.
So to minimize the risk of a funeral, it's just going to be funny again.
Instant Magic reminds me of the village doctor's chubby little daughter. She was the youngest offspring of the House of Guerlain, a family with tradition and a good reputation.
In the doctor's surgery, patients were allowed to admire gold-framed family pictures with lots of "aaahs" and "ooohs". Neatly parted boys in finely starched shirts with sweaters and radiant girls in bright frilly dresses, all arranged like organ pipes. Bliss. Toothpaste smiles. Picture book.
He was particularly proud of his little nestling. Scribbles of a three-year-old child's hand adorned the practice wall next to his computer. Almost like an altar. The person in the paintings depicted the father without a neck, but with feet protruding from his head. A medical accident, so to speak.
The artist was a latecomer. She was born when it was already said that the mother could no longer have children. In other words, a miracle. The child was therefore affectionately called Magic. The little magic fairy was spoiled accordingly.
The older twin sisters, who uniformly called themselves Insolence, had become extraordinarily popular thanks to their intelligence and beauty. Gentlemen queued up to take the young, lovely ladies with the violet-blue eyes out. The good reputation of the famous surname preceded them.
Of course, there was no question that the little prodigy had to follow in the same footsteps. Piano and ballet lessons were compulsory. So the whole Guerlain family gathered in great excitement in the town's festival hall to support the 6-year-old prodigy at his first performance.
His chubby cheeks were glowing red, his mother had rubbed them with bergamot. After all, the child needed vitamin C. Her grin exposed the gaps between her teeth. Magic stood in the row of girls of the same age, eagerly waiting for the ballet teacher to give the hand signal to start.
The Guerlain family were already taking photos and filming for all they were worth. When the first notes of Chopin's Spring Waltz rang out and the girls took up the la première position with their bodies stretched out, it was a while before they got the attention of the fidgety Magic. The sense of rhythm was not innate, but the teacher didn't dare tell the wealthy parents, who were among the ballet school's most valuable sponsors.
Every movement of the child, which seemed rather coarse next to the graceful dancers, was rewarded with thunderous applause and cheers from the family.
But then it happened. The bodysuit stretched a little too tightly, so that the pink tulle skirt slipped up over her round tummy and the lace covered her field of vision. Magic's short legs became so tangled that she whirled around on her own axis several times and finally plopped onto the stage with a loud splash. The audience held its breath and mom, dad, aunts and uncles and their entourages rushed onto the stage. The startled child realized from the reaction of his loved ones that it could only have been a bad accident and began to squeal at the top of his voice. The pianist stopped playing.
The whole audience took part in the unfortunate incident. However, this had no negative impact on the collective judgment. In a moment of gratuitous applause and praise for the child's dance, the really talented girls slipped off the stage without a sound.
As a consolation, the aunts stuffed marzipan with sweet almonds into the victim's mouth so that she couldn't decide whether to cry or chew. In the end, she couldn't do both. The event was over.
Weeks later, concerned citizens and patients were still asking the parents about the youngest's health.
The accident had not damaged little Magic's career or the school's reputation.
Quite the opposite. The child was printed as a toothless advertising face on all brochures for people interested in ballet throughout the country. Her little bun contained roses and freesias from her father's obligatory bad conscience bouquet to her mother, as she had to do without him so often due to his workload.
The child with the high-born name Magic Guerlain was not the most talented ballerina and not the most beautiful of her kind, but she brought a breath of fresh air into her environment with her average and down-to-earth nature. Hobby gymnastics in a pink leotard is also fun. It doesn't always have to be the big success story. Even if the origin promises the highest quality, I cannot fully agree with the collective exuberant judgment of the masses.
Bergamot provides the citrusy opening, followed by a fresh powderiness of freesia and rose, accompanied by sweet vanilla almonds. This interplay is quite pretty, a little musky and creamy, but not outstanding. If you are used to the beauty of its relatives, it is not clear to me how much DNA the little pink offspring actually carries. In a blind test, I would have expected a different name, indeed a more ordinary family.
I also want to complain about the short shelf life, but... come to my senses at the last moment and give it a polite 7 points, because I have to get a sick note tomorrow.
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