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Peter catches Swiss stone pines
"Was Grandma here?" Peter stares at me with beady eyes. The food hatch slightly open. "You smell like Grandma Schrubb!" Peter loves Grandma. Grandma Schrubb, as he calls her. Because she always brings funny things. Yellow-green powder. From back then. For the bathtub. And toys. Self-propelled mice, for example.
Peter is the village cat and lives with me. Wrong! I live with him. He's an expert on Sheba, perfume and edible houseflies. "And mice!" he adds. "Has Grandma been here now, or why do you smell of spruce needle foam bath?" I love his direct manner.
"No, she wasn't!"
"And what do you smell like then?" Peter has a question mark in his eyes.
"Like Chaleureux!" "Of Swiss stone pine". "And that's not spruce needles, that's Swiss stone pine!"
"Swiss stone pine what?" "The bouncy things that go all over the place at night?" "That no pig can sleep?" "A cat needs 26 hours of sleep a day!"
"Swiss stone pine!" "Not Swiss stone pine!" I refrain from saying anything about the pig. Although it's on the tip of my tongue. "It's a kind of pine." "From the Alps." "Or something like that."
"And you chirped yourself with that?" Peter folds his ears forward. His interest is piqued. "And what else is in there?"
"Fig!"
"Cowardly sow, being driven through the village?" He blinks his eyes. Peter's head cinema is great again. His lines too. Somehow he's got it in for the pigs today.
"The ones from the tree," I correct him. Those round things that taste so good."
"Maybe to you ..." Peter doesn't like figs. Typical perfume critic. Lots of people don't like figs. Peter is no exception. Neither in the scent nor on the plate.
I don't care about that. I like figs. At least fresh from the tree. Not so much in the smell. Not most of the time. There is fig in the Chaleureux. If you believe the comments, it's fig leaves. I don't know what fig leaves smell like. The commentators probably don't either.
"Paradise!" squeals Peter. "Didn't Eve tear the fig leaf off Adam's stem?" "She should know!"
"What was she supposed to know?"
"Well, what a fig leaf smells like."'Peter grins.
I don't care about that. Whether it's pine or cicada. Or fig green, fresh fig or Christmas emergency food. I like the scent. Just the way it is. With everything in it. Grandma here, fig there.
Chaleureux. From Arve. A wonderful fragrance for anyone who likes a chirp. An excellent candidate for the blindbuy collection but not a must-have for cowards.
Peter is the village cat and lives with me. Wrong! I live with him. He's an expert on Sheba, perfume and edible houseflies. "And mice!" he adds. "Has Grandma been here now, or why do you smell of spruce needle foam bath?" I love his direct manner.
"No, she wasn't!"
"And what do you smell like then?" Peter has a question mark in his eyes.
"Like Chaleureux!" "Of Swiss stone pine". "And that's not spruce needles, that's Swiss stone pine!"
"Swiss stone pine what?" "The bouncy things that go all over the place at night?" "That no pig can sleep?" "A cat needs 26 hours of sleep a day!"
"Swiss stone pine!" "Not Swiss stone pine!" I refrain from saying anything about the pig. Although it's on the tip of my tongue. "It's a kind of pine." "From the Alps." "Or something like that."
"And you chirped yourself with that?" Peter folds his ears forward. His interest is piqued. "And what else is in there?"
"Fig!"
"Cowardly sow, being driven through the village?" He blinks his eyes. Peter's head cinema is great again. His lines too. Somehow he's got it in for the pigs today.
"The ones from the tree," I correct him. Those round things that taste so good."
"Maybe to you ..." Peter doesn't like figs. Typical perfume critic. Lots of people don't like figs. Peter is no exception. Neither in the scent nor on the plate.
I don't care about that. I like figs. At least fresh from the tree. Not so much in the smell. Not most of the time. There is fig in the Chaleureux. If you believe the comments, it's fig leaves. I don't know what fig leaves smell like. The commentators probably don't either.
"Paradise!" squeals Peter. "Didn't Eve tear the fig leaf off Adam's stem?" "She should know!"
"What was she supposed to know?"
"Well, what a fig leaf smells like."'Peter grins.
I don't care about that. Whether it's pine or cicada. Or fig green, fresh fig or Christmas emergency food. I like the scent. Just the way it is. With everything in it. Grandma here, fig there.
Chaleureux. From Arve. A wonderful fragrance for anyone who likes a chirp. An excellent candidate for the blindbuy collection but not a must-have for cowards.
23 Comments
Once again my laugh of the day! You made my day! 🤣
🌲 🍸 🪰 🐈⬛ ☺️
Now I'm still interested in the smell of the fig leaf from Adam's stalk 😂🤣 oh man....Peter is the best! ...and so is the author of this entertaining text. A blankly chirped trophy for you 🏆
And Peter wants to ask Eva.
And I prefer the fruit on the plate, yes! I definitely like the smell. Best wishes to Peter!