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Intimate Embrace of a Thousand Roses
Paris - a scent I could never do without. Even though I would never wear it myself.
My grandma is a petite woman. She never leaves the house without being made up. Shoes always with a heel. Fine sweaters in all pastel shades, but preferably in mouse gray. Jewelry is a must, and nothing goes for her without eyeshadow and lipstick. She has always been like this.
Before one can even perceive her appearance, one thing has long preceded her: Paris. As a child, I often went out in our hometown with my mom. Several times we caught a whiff of that one particular scent in the drugstore or department store and knew: Grandma can't be far away. Eventually, we would find her a few aisles over. Sometimes her scent trail even led us back to her home. As long as I can remember, Paris has been my grandma's signature scent. And it suits her so well.
When my grandma knits me socks, they smell like Paris. When she sends me a card, it smells like Paris. If she lends me a book, it smells like Paris. Even years later, I pick up something she once gave me that has been in my possession since then, and I still smell Paris.
A lush bouquet of a thousand fresh sweet roses, sprinkled with a few other flowers, enveloped in musk. Elegant, floral, feminine, clean. A bit old-fashioned, but timeless. Like an intimate embrace. And to me, it smells like my grandma.
My grandma is a petite woman. She never leaves the house without being made up. Shoes always with a heel. Fine sweaters in all pastel shades, but preferably in mouse gray. Jewelry is a must, and nothing goes for her without eyeshadow and lipstick. She has always been like this.
Before one can even perceive her appearance, one thing has long preceded her: Paris. As a child, I often went out in our hometown with my mom. Several times we caught a whiff of that one particular scent in the drugstore or department store and knew: Grandma can't be far away. Eventually, we would find her a few aisles over. Sometimes her scent trail even led us back to her home. As long as I can remember, Paris has been my grandma's signature scent. And it suits her so well.
When my grandma knits me socks, they smell like Paris. When she sends me a card, it smells like Paris. If she lends me a book, it smells like Paris. Even years later, I pick up something she once gave me that has been in my possession since then, and I still smell Paris.
A lush bouquet of a thousand fresh sweet roses, sprinkled with a few other flowers, enveloped in musk. Elegant, floral, feminine, clean. A bit old-fashioned, but timeless. Like an intimate embrace. And to me, it smells like my grandma.
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