I have a favorite bath soap. It’s Pre de Provence sage soap. (And I only just discovered that I can buy it from Amazon! I have to go a bit out of my way to buy it.) I also like the verbena.
This week I was near a store in Cambridge that has small bars, and I went in to buy a few. (A few is all I can justify buying at a time; these babies are expensive!) As I perused the display, there were pink bars I didn’t remember seeing before. “Peony” they said. I love peonies. So I picked one up for a sniff, and it reminded me of
my Grandma Tracey. I love memories of my Grandma Tracey, so I bought one.
Big mistake. I used it yesterday morning for my shower, and it was fine. Nice moisturizing feel, but no icky film. Pleasant fragrance.
Until—until I came home, that is, and now my small apartment has unmistakable whiffs of eau de parfum du bordel. (It smells like a French whorehouse, as the saying goes.)