Edda32

Beyond
the shores of the mangrove
Between dripping curtains
And the eternal singsong
Green stuffness,
Boggy sultriness
Runs welding
Only over the skin of workers chewing liquorice
- Or was it coca?
Their grey slaves led
From centuries old power of habit
Patient as a trash in the sleeping offices
The Rue du Pont Neuf
Your tiny eyes forgot why.

As without reason
Answering to a blink of an eye < br />
Crates fall
Mud splashes, smacking under the velvet
Galloping hooves
Fanfares of former galley convicts
Crushing, crushing Garam Masala and the pyramids
The mangos, the oranges.
Above all smiles malaria,
with bedroom view. Returns a last command.

Stampede!

Whenever I shop at Lidl, I want to kick Jesper Høyer in front of his shinbone. Or is he not responsible for purchasing at all? Well, it doesn't matter, he's going to be replaced soon anyway.

I mean, it's great that there are so many organic products there, but why on earth are there organic cucumbers wrapped in plastic foil? I always have this fundamental conflict of conscience there. The right hand oscillates between the plastic-free conventional cucumber on the one hand and the organic version on the other, of which I know that her plastic dress will leave a moral sour taste on the tongue. (yes, I know, I have to take off the foil first... I meant it symbolically.) Pestilence or cholera.
I still go there sometimes, because then I can provide the big family with one blow all around, with the basal products of daily life.
Even myself! Because Lidl! Has! One! Perfume department!!!
Check it out!
Granted a not very...uh...spacious, but hey! It's about all-round care and primary primary care. From the crown to the sole, from the inside to the outside - you can stock up here with all the means of your daily needs and don't need to go to any other shop. Even fragrances can be found here. Theoretically.
Because I think a little sensuality is also part of buying perfume. Buying perfume from Lidl, putting it ice cold next to the minced beef... well, I don't know. Unfortunately, I also have a distinct pragmatic side, dear saving, arithmetic, accounting. Suddenly-Madame Glamour' was his reputation, his Sillage, far ahead. Everybody's got it, everybody knows it. "You know what?" "Insider tip!" "Smells like...
All right, the few euros, I'll take a look.
(Please buckle up, I'll get to the point now! Who holds it out to the end, may itself what wish )
The name Madame Glamour sounds a bit closer to the people than the French-elegant 'Mademoiselle', at least in Germany, where a 'Madame' does not exactly evoke a graceful or elegant appearance. So maybe the name fits quite well to the clientele (yes, I buy there, too). I mean normal people and not ethereal supermodels). 'Glamour'...my eyes wander left to the gossip and gossip magazines.
The pink-golden lettering and the colour of the liquid.....all reminiscences of the twins grown up in better conditions.
From Mademoiselle Coco I once had a mini, which had fallen from my cupboard oh oh! oh weh! and smashed on the floor, giving us a heavenly scented doormat for weeks. That was a wonderful time, because I love this fragrance, the somewhat biting top note (controversial) admittedly not so much, but the beautiful warm smoky base on floral-light rose and jasmine sorbet.
So, expectantly, I sprayed Madame Glamour on my wrist. (Of course I still held the cucumber firmly in my hand, after all it hadn't been an easy decision.)

Top note: actually as an injection of citric acid with pesticide into the nose. Inspired by this I do another round with the household cleaners to let the heart note unfold. Actually, it's blooming. But how!
I imagine Jesper Høyer in his lab coat in Lidl's backstage area grabbing a canister with 'flowers' on it and pouring a good portion of it into his own master-proper derivative ('Monsieur Glamour'). A short sniffer, look at the wristwatch (promotional item, please stock up). Oh dear, already 12:30! Dates! Dates! And the fragrance still lacks the base note!! That reminds him of the little bags with the vanilla sugar. Quickly a few thousand ripped open, let it trickle in ---et voilà! Madame Glamour is ready! The bottles cost 0,01€ in China, a little bit expensive, but what the hell, it should also be a luxury product.
In this flower and vanilla component the fragrance then stops. Over hours and hours.
For me Madame Glamour is the frozen, somewhat crampy smiling, plastic jewelled wax doll double dressed in polyester silk, a tender, light-footed, flirtatious, elegant, glamorous Audrey Hepburn. At first sight you don't notice anything, but the charm is missing.
Next thought: 5€...
And like so many times with Lidl, I have to make up my mind now. Pestilence or cholera?



(if someone of the fans wants to duel with me now, I'll activate my address.)

My daughter is the most cuddly creature on the planet. A cat video that has become a human being. A honey blonde, fuzzy little head, bristly like a porcupine. Anyone who manages to persuade my daughter to do something she does not want can just as easily solve the Israel-Palestine conflict.
If you look into their dark cornflower eyes, you will see cumulus clouds in iron mountain lakes, dancing butterflies and black storms passing by in fast motion.
My daughter is 'as bright as a christmas tree'. At the age of two, she was able to sing several stanzaic songs without error and speak long, complex sentences. Her first complete sentence to me was 'Go away' with your filthy paws!'
Simply golden.

When she was three years old, she got up in the morning and announced 'I NEVER go to kindergarten anymore' and I knew she was serious.
From then on, we did everything together. Since I worked freelance at home at that time, it went reasonably well. But what she liked best was shopping with me. She pushed the shopping trolley for me or wandered through the aisles to subject the lined up goods to a critical analysis, reminded me of what was "all" at home and what I had not cooked for a long time.
My daughter is a perception machine. She sees everything, she hears everything, she smells everything. So also on the day, when she summarized the smell of Hugo Boss Bottled with a sentence.

It must have been the fruit and vegetables in front, when this memory-soaked, somewhat strongly applied smell floated into my nose. I looked up and my gaze fell on a pretty attractive guy in a leather jacket who just tore the bundled leaves and stems of three kohlrabis with concentrated force. It was around half past eleven and its fragrance had already arrived in the warm spicy fragrant base note, dragging a little cinnamon and sport and fresh fruit behind it. But most of all, he carried the memories to me.
Memories of two-way, nocturnal shivering on park benches, mutual waiting for the start to be made, memories of exchanged mixed 'tapes', now burned on CD in a very modern way, holding hands in the back school yard, alibi-like sitting together on the well...only...desk chair in the teenager's room. First visits to the gym had paid off, as I secretly noticed, instead of looking at the proudly presented, endless albums of the self-photographed Mallorcan beaches. You had to be damn quiet in this youth room, which wasn't always easy in the presence of Boss Bottled...

Uh... Hold memories! Now this is good!
Didn't you ever notice that Hugo Boss Bottled fell out of almost every black EastPack backpack? That the bus driver, the political teacher, the girlfriend's brother and supposedly great love...all smelled the same? Wasn't he just a little boring after all? Charts up and down, hairstyle like everyone, sports like everyone, TV like everyone? The little big love became boring and in fact became a nice friendship at some point. It was still a nice time, a lovely memory.
I followed the fragrance trail for a while through the supermarket, indulging in the echo of a bright dark past, here with the cereals.

Suddenly a hectic hand fan tore me from my dreams. A golden, curly gorilla bunny with bloated nostrils, a raised upper lip and contracted eyebrows under black-blue eyes sparkled at me. With a rough voice, but clearly and clearly audible for all shoppers:
"Puuuuuuuuh mommy......it smells like Specified!"

I've been wearing this scent for two days now. In the garden while mowing the lawn and weeding the weeds, while shopping (huiii again expensive!) and during various bicycle rides with the children... (please RIGHT RUN! RE-HIGHT...!!!!!) ...It's holidays, it's early spring with all its tulips, daffodils, winterlings, forsythia... I see yellow, yellow yellow, the magnolia next door drops banana peels in the gardens. So Mr. Neighbor, please rake and sweep every day, otherwise there will be trouble.
The birds are roaring in front of the window at half past five. (Hey, does anyone know where the spring tiredness comes from?) The sun is shining and I have even worn short sleeves with goose bumps today. Sometimes I already dream about sandals. And with all this I am surrounded by a delicate, tangerine-yellow-orange scent, like busy bees, with little buckets of henkele on my feet.

Loud cheerful notes, yes indeed.
Of the eleven notes from the pyramid, some I feel are dazzling. The Hawaiian wedding flower doesn't want to get googled, and I'm a little suspicious. The association 'wedding' wants to fit so well to 'happy'...Well then.
Start at the front of the fragrance. A few common suspicious components can be found in the top note: bergamot, fresh green lemon and the always sporty pamelmuse. However, these two slightly effervescent fruit notes are immediately intercepted by the mandarin and carried into the sweetness. It's not mentioned, but I smell also candied orange slices, but not the dry, brown ones, from the Christmas spotpourri, but these here shine like cathedral windows.
Or like Capri ice cream.

The heart note combines spring and summer notes. Countless white flowers are snowing in. Jasmine shines fragrantly from afar, a few fruit trees in addition... Here spring and summer - fruits here and flowers there - unite and it becomes clear that it is not really a native scent, but an exotic and it wants to be worn where it belongs. On vacation, on vacation, in the sun.

Boysenberries are simply a cross between blackberries and raspberries, better brimberries so to speak. They come from America, just around the corner from Hawaii by the way .....You should meet them in the heart note, not yet to pick, but as flowers. Well, I can't smell it, but I can sense it. It smells like fruit blossoms.
Slowly the Capri ice cream melts with my skin and all the bees and flowers together, to a well-known scent:
Sunshine on warm skin. There is even a bitter component, that must be the laurel. And I think this is typical Clinique: always slightly edgy, somewhat bold and very cultivated in this fragrance despite the cuteness.

Earlier, while sniffing at my forearm, I asked myself what actually characterizes a so-called good mood scent. Here the term would be so impudently imposed that one would like to avoid it.
Short brainstorming. Good mood...is light-heartedness, freedom from worries, no brooding, simply serenity, a smile in the eyes and sunshine in the heart. Taste doesn't need caffeine, 'Happy' doesn't need sexiness, is an end in itself for innocent serenity.

I can really use it: the kids drive as they like, fucking magnolia slop, account empty and in the garden everything full of weeds.
And I spray, I spray, I spray................................................................................................................

First of all, I want to promise you that I won't be blaspheming again. Just a little...
Today, determined to get to know a legend, I spent twenty euros for the 30ml legend. My sip of luck.
I had already taken a test sprayer home last week, admittedly on a white paper strip and Anaïs really stood better than me.
I was very enthusiastic and somehow still am, of top note and heart note. I was not able to get to know the base note because of the lack of body heat on the strip.
Let's get back to the beginning: I liked the beautiful white bottle with the veiling pink flowers. Something like this would look good on a dainty white dressing table, with a vase of white lilies and golden pink brocade wallpaper behind...Dame Blanche, wrapped in silky flowing robes, enters the light-flooded room to the morning toilet, strokes her hair with a goat hair brush, powders her nose and dabs Anaïs on her wrists...
My mood picture confirms me, Edda32, jeans, sneakers, parka in the local Karstadt...when I release the first sprayer of Anaïs...
Very delicate, bright, flowery, but also a little peppery freshness, as if someone were holding a bouquet of hyacinths that have just blossomed in the fresh morning air under his nose 'Smell this!......aaaaaah!'
Top note pleases!
Soon, however, this person approaches with further samples from the early blossoming offer. More and more and more and more and more and more flowers...
Hyacinths! Take this!
Lily of the valley! Take this!
Roses! Take this!
Suddenly I notice that the Anaïsfee with the dressing table has a Mirelle-Matthieu hairstyle. The dew on the flowers dries off, a little dull jasmine comes through and some trendy plants of the 70s...Ylang-ylang and is that Patchouli?..almost groovy....
On the way home I sniff again and again at my paper strip....aaaah interesting...a wonderful soap. This floweriness, nevertheless without heaviness...I also perceive some sharpness...

Only today, after my purchase and the real test wearing on the body, do I get to know the true Anaïs. She has a dark, musty secret, a corpse in the cellar....moss, musk and ylangylang prepare the cornucopia of spring for the end.
On the skin every freshness disappears, it smells a bit like the generous baby powder donation of my grandmother to the birth of my first child. A lush bouquet of roses and lilies thickly powdered white....

If I could wish for something from the Anaïsfee, it would be a little more vetiver in the base and less dark notes.
I still think that this is a coherent scent. I don't know the much praised original, but for me this version also transports a touch of the seventies. Fine, but my type lacks clarity and freshness. It just doesn't look good on me. Oh, too bad...