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Very helpful Review
Confrontation Therapy. 1:0. Tshajbukoshka against the Old Man
“We are only the result of our past
Displayed to [us] on monitors.”*
So it’s not surprising that your face appears before my mind’s eye with the first spray. I give this reminiscence a mental nudge. You can’t harm me, old man.
Among thousands, I would recognize you again, but I never have to see you again and I won’t have to endure your voice, your probing questions, and your derogatory comments about my origins.
Your horizon as wide as a teaspoon from a doll’s tea set makes me wonder how you could possibly have known Lagerfeld at all.
Aside from the vintage, I find no commonality between you.
Do I smell like grandpa now? (Karl-Heinz Friedrich, you were definitely not meant here, take care of your own brood.)
This question can only be answered by my better half. She hangs as always around my neck, her head on my shoulder and her nose on the lapel of my coat, while eyes scrutinize me that would give the buttons of a Shiba Inu memorable competition.
This can only mean one thing. “I missed you!” (Okay. Then probably two things.) I have to laugh, break free from this embrace, and take a closer look at her. Does she look like she’s hungry? She must want me to make her something to eat, because she doesn’t even know if you salt eggs before or after boiling them. “Did you bring me something?” She looks at me expectantly. I pull Karl out of my pocket and the little monster has already recklessly torn open the packaging and pressed the spray button twice before I can react with ‘I wanted to keep the box.’
She makes a face. “Since when do we wear something like this?” it slips out of her. “For an hour? Or two?” We - I must have been expropriated. But I have won, against the old man, besides a classic and this treasure that miraculously accepts me as I am. Shortly thereafter, she also likes it. “Yes, it suits us.” (Is this some kind of Gollum thing? And if so, am I now dealing with Sméagol or the Evil one?)
“If someone throws stones at your heart, then throw roses on their grave.”*
Well, I’m probably not the only person here with a strange taste in music - but it fits. Creamy-soft, roses on ashtrays, I could even endure the old man once more with a laugh.
But I don’t have to, I have won. Before I can make myself comfortable on the sofa, I’m sent to the stove. Okay, this Sméagol with the Shiba eyes is also a little dictator.
But the evening with Karl sounds nicer than it started.
And tomorrow he will probably accompany both of us to the office.
-------
*Source: Animus - Distance; Tears fall
Displayed to [us] on monitors.”*
So it’s not surprising that your face appears before my mind’s eye with the first spray. I give this reminiscence a mental nudge. You can’t harm me, old man.
Among thousands, I would recognize you again, but I never have to see you again and I won’t have to endure your voice, your probing questions, and your derogatory comments about my origins.
Your horizon as wide as a teaspoon from a doll’s tea set makes me wonder how you could possibly have known Lagerfeld at all.
Aside from the vintage, I find no commonality between you.
Do I smell like grandpa now? (Karl-Heinz Friedrich, you were definitely not meant here, take care of your own brood.)
This question can only be answered by my better half. She hangs as always around my neck, her head on my shoulder and her nose on the lapel of my coat, while eyes scrutinize me that would give the buttons of a Shiba Inu memorable competition.
This can only mean one thing. “I missed you!” (Okay. Then probably two things.) I have to laugh, break free from this embrace, and take a closer look at her. Does she look like she’s hungry? She must want me to make her something to eat, because she doesn’t even know if you salt eggs before or after boiling them. “Did you bring me something?” She looks at me expectantly. I pull Karl out of my pocket and the little monster has already recklessly torn open the packaging and pressed the spray button twice before I can react with ‘I wanted to keep the box.’
She makes a face. “Since when do we wear something like this?” it slips out of her. “For an hour? Or two?” We - I must have been expropriated. But I have won, against the old man, besides a classic and this treasure that miraculously accepts me as I am. Shortly thereafter, she also likes it. “Yes, it suits us.” (Is this some kind of Gollum thing? And if so, am I now dealing with Sméagol or the Evil one?)
“If someone throws stones at your heart, then throw roses on their grave.”*
Well, I’m probably not the only person here with a strange taste in music - but it fits. Creamy-soft, roses on ashtrays, I could even endure the old man once more with a laugh.
But I don’t have to, I have won. Before I can make myself comfortable on the sofa, I’m sent to the stove. Okay, this Sméagol with the Shiba eyes is also a little dictator.
But the evening with Karl sounds nicer than it started.
And tomorrow he will probably accompany both of us to the office.
-------
*Source: Animus - Distance; Tears fall
Translated · Show original
15 Comments
Anyway, the scent is a real winner.
So, my friends and I in our early 20s were "grandpas" too ;-P
Back then, Lagerfeld Cologne, as it was called, was super popular among the youth.
That's why I always view such "grandpa" labels with skepticism and find them rather derogatory; those fragrances don't deserve that.