Tosca Mäurer & Wirtz Eau de Parfum

Book scorpions are not actually real scorpions, but they owe their cute name to their appearance.
They actually dwell in old books and feed on pesky dust mites, thus helping ancient writings to survive.

This year, Fibelskorpi hops onto my shoulder, and we read together from a dusty book of West German literature.
Pragmatically, my little companion expresses himself in a wonderfully sparse manner, always adding an adjective or adverb to the text in a fairy-tale-like personification.
Simply adorable!

FS: Blushing.

Let’s now open the cover.
It reads as follows.

Dear reader, in order to understand the following lines, you are kindly asked to apply the EdP concentration of Tosca.

FS: Strange.

A: Well then, dear Fibelskorpi, something fragrant can’t hurt.

Hiss!

FS: Breath-stealing.

A: That’s due to the ancient aldehydes, which continue to abstractly paint the beautiful citrus fruits full of light in golden hues.
Especially the orange gently caresses the skin.

FS: Subcutaneously sludged.

A: I’d like to have missed that!
Really!
Be careful, the white lilies lure fresh and floral with brother jasmine to the flowerbed.
Everything is very subtle and in orange tones, these yellow flowers.
Ylang and daffodil increasingly warm and surround a sympathetic rose.

FS: Sighing.

A: To avoid getting hurt by the thorns of the rose, the base offers a leather glove dusted with vanilla powder, labdanum, and patchouli from the croc bag.

FS: Feminine.

A: Yes, that’s great-grandma Tosca, a golden bouquet of flowers with a vanilla leather cover.
The amber crackles like a shellac record, delightfully sweet in the nose, the gentle waves before Travemünde sound peacefully soapy.

FS: Sentimental.

A: Alright, let’s continue reading the text.
Quiet now!

It happened not too long ago that Mrs. Gisela, unhappy with her hair, sought the advice of a well-reputed hairdresser.
Having successfully kept her crow's feet at bay with Hormocenta, her rebellious hair was now rebelling against volumizing hair sprays.
The expert presented her with a promising solution: ondulation.
She became nervous, even anxious about the procedure, but the Figaro knew how to calm her nerves with a glass of women's gold.

FS: Irresponsible.

The hot iron formed fashionably daring waves in her hair. It hissed and steamed like in an old foundry.
To give the sharply styled hair waves a breather, the Figaro gently massaged an indefinable molasses, declared as a treatment pack.
The sharp smell of chemicals on her scalp made her furious; she indignantly refused the hood dryer ordered after the rinse.
Laughing, the nimble one revealed to her the secret of good humor. In a dance hall reserved only for gentlemen, they sniffed at brown vials, got rosy cheeks, and yodeled with fervor the pure joy of life.

FS: Grotesque.

Then Mrs. Gisela rummaged in her croc bag and pulled out the tenderly engraved vial of Tosca.
She gathered her courage, opened the cap, held the sprayer to her nostrils, and pressed down.

FS: Astonished.

And so, under the warm hood dryer, the transcendent disappearance of Mrs. Gisela began.
The golden aldehydes shimmered seductively and magically transformed her like Thumbelina into an oversized box full of Rocher balls, her insatiable land of milk and honey.
Ripe lemons and juicy oranges then whisked her away to the postcard from Capri; she became part of the photograph surrounded by playful mermaids and a Venus by Botticelli. So azure blue was the sea, so well-maintained the tour bus full of waving cultural travelers.

FS: Technicolor.

Fresh white flowers let her fly weightlessly over the snow-covered Alps, catching sight of the homeland-evoking lakes of Schwangau.
Delicate as a dandelion, Mrs. Gisela landed in the courtyard of Neuschwanstein Castle.
From a winding turret, a lovely, elderly maid in a dirndl rushed in, a basket full of daffodils, exotic yellow flowers, and roses in her arms.
With a rolling R sound, she greeted Mrs. Gisela with a grin.
Moved, both ladies embraced.
Mrs. Gisela was close to tears; she thanked the dirndl figurine Uschi Glas from the bottom of her heart for everything, truly everything.
She would gladly entrust her with the choice of the Federal President in the Federal Assembly in her name, as she felt unable to decide on such complicated matters. Ideally, Mrs. Glas should also advise her on her postal vote.
She, who embodies tenderness again, could present such a beautiful and happy family.
Like old bosom friends, they kissed each other on the cheeks.

FS: Submissively.

Mrs. Glas took her by the hand and led her into the singers' hall.
There leaned, worldly-wise with his shirt half-open against one of the neo-Romanesque columns, the man who understood women's desires like no other.
His voice hit every note, making promises come true.
What Mrs. Gisela would give him, he would never have dared to dream.
She had ignited an extinguished fire in him.
To love her, to touch her.
Her heart raced, she trembled all over.
And so it paid off to have practiced the applause cue in the Mainz television garden that day. Now she could clap refreshingly in time for her Roland Kaiser.

FS: Obediently.

From a parallel universe, the Figaro called out again from afar to inquire about Mrs. Gisela’s well-being.
Another dose of Tosca would be necessary.

FS: Alarmingly.

Suddenly, snow-white powder fell over Neuschwanstein Castle.
In a vanilla snowstorm, cheeky Wolpertingers carried Mrs. Gisela away over the clouds, only to drop her exhausted halfway in the Glottertal of the Black Forest.
Dazed, she lay in the meadow as paramedics placed her on a stretcher and took her to the chief physician of the nearby clinic.
Prof. Dr. Sascha Brinkmann reassured her; she had only sustained minor scratches from the fall, nothing to worry about.
A little healing later, she thanked the expert, as women would trust him.

FS: Tolerantly stimulating.

Nothing stood in the way of her honeymoon with Roland; she was well, according to his diagnosis.
Sister Gabi would take the young couple to the airport.

FS: Fever-dreaming.

And so, a caring angel like Gabi magically changes into her white uniform to promptly welcome the happy couple on board in the name of Captain Mahmud and wish them a pleasant flight to Mogadishu.
However, they should keep the vanilla leather-covered seatbacks upright and refrain from smoking.

FS: Fateful.

Mrs. Gisela became suspicious, as she had long since quit smoking.
Where was the smoke coming from?
At the last minute, her soufflé was taken out of the hood dryer, crackling and ambered.
Customer and hairdresser beheld the hairy masterpiece and laughed their troubles away.

FS: Consciousness-expanding.

And from then on, Mrs. Gisela demanded the benefit of the hood dryer and Tosca with Prussian regularity and punctuality.