Pour Femme Lacoste 2003 Eau de Parfum

A rascal thinks evil at the title!
My former mother-in-law-to-be - I still keep in touch with her - is a wonderful, warm-hearted person and I am still grateful to her for "taking" the fragrance from me.
Otherwise, I would probably have never discovered Cuir Béluga *sigh* *swoon*.

So, let's start at the beginning.
I am 16 years young, I have earned a bit more money for the first time than the usual 5-10€ for walking the neighbor's dog - enough to splurge on a new perfume.
But not a Playboy or Bruno Banani or some other cheap watered-down something that someone leaves behind because they don't like it, no, for this special day, it should be something special. I deserve that.
My bike takes me to the drugstore of my trust.
There I stand in front of the shelf and don't know where to start. There are colorful bottles, some even have plush keychains attached. What the...
“If a perfume needs a free keychain to advertise itself, that can’t be a good sign.”
That’s my logic. To this day.
Overwhelmed by colorful candies, the glitter, pomp, and frills, I stand there and discover it, this stylish, slim rectangular bottle.
The Lacoste crocodile looks at me and reminds me of the sneakers I couldn’t afford (and didn’t want, because maybe my feet would still grow and then it would really be a shame about the shoes, I had apparently been successfully brainwashed).
The crocodile doesn’t scream, it doesn’t glitter, it scores points with me through subtle restraint. Exactly my thing. Angular, but slightly rounded on the inside.
It passes the first test on paper.
It doesn’t smell harsh, not like grandma - like all those number fives and whatever else they are called, that so many drown themselves in because they want to be addressed about their ge... uh... their perfume.
So it can go on my skin. And on my neck and in my hair.
Mhhmmm... pleasant! Smooth! Well-groomed. And exactly within my budget.
I walk a few rounds through the store and still like the scent around me. Bought.
The one cent that is left, I throw into the donation box along with the remaining small change that is still in my wallet. The embarrassing 4You wallet that my brother no longer needed or wanted. If only I had bought a fancy wallet. Never mind. I have something much better. With that, I go home.
The next years, the crocodile accompanies me - from there everywhere, at any time of day, for (almost) every occasion. For the disco, it’s too tame, too sweet.
But it’s practical to mainly use one perfume. Then you never have to sniff the scarves, because you know that only this one scent can still be on them. And it actually does. On the clothes, I can smell the base even after one/two days or until washing, when it’s no longer even detectable on the skin.
The crocodile is my faithful companion. When I have showered, I feel like I have showered in squares with it. Clean.
My friends stick their noses into my neckerchiefs and scarves when we greet each other. Because I smell so pleasant.
Not a single person has anything to criticize about me or the crocodile.
Until... that one comment should destroy everything.
“You smell like my mother. Stop it.” - words you don’t want to hear from your boyfriend.
“He has no idea. I don’t use fabric softener, but maybe it’s the laundry detergent. Or the hair mousse he smells. Honestly, did I even put on perfume today? I think I forgot it anyway.”
A few days later, I stand in the bathroom of said mother. Next to Christina Aguilera, it stands. The crocodile.
That’s the end. I can almost hear my heart breaking a little.
The next days and weeks, I go through the world without perfume. Disillusioned.
I smell her mother. She smells great, like security. She radiates warmth and is all about harmony. A wonderful woman who cooks great food.
Her bottle is nearing its end.
I think. At home, I still have a turtle and a crocodile, both with very similarly scented contents.
Should I give her the turtle?
No. Too cheap. That could be seen as an insult, because I myself found the turtle slightly repulsive and therefore hadn’t touched it for a long time and later brought home the crocodile again when it was on sale.
For whatever reason, I keep the boxes of the perfumes, even though I don’t sell them anyway.
Here, luckily, because it makes the gift somehow more special.
The “mother-in-law” is surprised.
For what occasion and with what has she deserved this gift?
No, it doesn’t always need an occasion to want to bring someone a little joy. After all, she always does that.
At every one of my (announced) visits, she has coincidentally cooked something that she knows I like to eat.
She never makes a big fuss about anything.
Like the crocodile.
The crocodile suits her much better than me, the little drama queen.
I wonder how we, the crocodile and I, could endure each other for so long and I wholeheartedly wish it to her, this kind-hearted, warm woman who would never harm a fly.
Like the crocodile.