March is away today, so we swapped places, but I am wearing one of the aprons she recommended, so just pretend I look like her, but she might be horrified at what I did to her slot today.
Back when I was a kid, my sister and I would play Barbies all the time. You’ve heard some of my Barbie stories, and much as I hate to beat a plastic doll and lead you to believe that I spent all of my childhood with the barbies, too many of my critical life lessons were with my Barbies by my side to ignore that I did spend a lot of my childhood with my barbies by my side.
We didn’t have a boy doll – normally named Ken – and he didn’t look that interested in Barbie anyway, so we made our own boy by cutting off the hair into a Beatles bob and smooshing the boobage down and drawing a pair of glasses on him/her with a blue ink pen. Yeah, that’s right, he was totally hot. Well, as all things go when you are pre-pubescent, the Barbies would inevitably go out on a date with the boy-ish Barbie, they’d make out, us moving their heads back and forth and making all the appropriate mm-mmm sounds. Before you knew it, their little homemade clothes were off and they were rubbing all up on each other.
Things got much worse, though. We had some rectangular wire hanger things, and we went out on the porch and used clothespins to pin them together until we had a fairly spectacular Barbie flying trapeze. We’d change their little homemade clothes into the two strips of cloth that were tied around them to be their circus bikini, bling not included, and “Ken-kinda” would be the tosser and flip them around on the trapeze. Of course, we were doing all of their moving, flipping them through the air at each other — there were a number of horrible accidents at the barbie circus — but it was quite a show… until the Barbies would get into a bitch-fight over who Ken-kinda lused for most. Then one of the Barbies would back Ken up on the trapeze and start coming on to him to show the other Barbies what was what, and before you know it, they were hanging upside down rubbing up on each other. Trapeze Barbie booty call.
From Aftelier Tango’s promotional blurb: “by the dance of love, sexy and smoky with roasted seashells and champaca; a heady floral with spice and honey notes.” This starts off pungent, slightly sharp, and this rubbery smell shows up, smoky rubber, almost a little Nostalgia’ish, but veers off into a floral’ish rubber. Tuberose responsible for that rubber? Not sure. Then it drifts along as this slightly freaky thing that I keep sniffing.
And then it hits me: This is what Trapeze Barbie booty call would smell like. Ken-kinda and Barbie all rubber-sweaty from their exertions, but there is not really a funky smell, just roasted and odd, like something a little rubbery and/or plastic just tore it up. Is that a bad thing? Frankly, no. I’m fascinated by this thing, just trying to figure out what is the roasted seashell smell in there. It’s vaguely sexless, while not being unsexy. Am I going to wear it? Only when I want to sniff odd things that fascinate me, which happens more days than I care to admit to.
Recommended sniff for: Experienced perfumistas looking for their next freaky thrill.
Give-away for today, but I probably won’t have it for another week, a set of three samples of the new Roja Dove perfumes. No idea what they smell like, I have a list of notes, so it could be great or a disappointment for the lucky recipient. Just leave a comment here and I’ll put you in the drawing!