First off, congrats to the winners of the Dahlia Noir samples: dinazad, Madea, Austenfan and Elizabeth C. Drop Musette an e-mail at her gmail addy evilauntieanita AT
Now that we’re well into the dangerous time of year for ice and snow in the South (much of our worst weather has come January-March), it prompted me to think about mishaps on slick or icy patches.
Even at my best, I have a natural inclination toward clumsiness. Perhaps it’s because I have too much on my mind and I’m not as aware as I should be of my surroundings. That tendency, paired with skin that bruises if you look at it too hard, makes me a prime candidate for a full-length padded body suit, as soon as someone creates one that’s practical.
One of my worst incidents, a few years back, was especially embarrassing. Coming back from the mailbox, I slipped on some icy slush at the edge of the garage, fell down, hit my browbone on my son’s scooter handle and passed out. I wound up with a whopper of a black eye and what I can only call a kaleidoscopic knee: Each day showed off yet another intense hue on the bruise color wheel. That I covered up with pants, but the eye — well, all I can say is thank goodness for heavy-duty concealer and dark purple eyeshadow (to help make my good eye match my bruised one). It wasn’t foolproof, but it passed muster upon casual observation and helped keep the stares to a minimum. I must have looked like a goofy middle-aged woman in dire need of a makeup lesson. Poor hubby, understandably, was a bit reluctant to go anywhere with me for fear of the dirty looks he was likely to get.
Then last summer, I fell at the beach, slipping down on a rain-slick ramp in the condo parking garage. Didn’t pass out that time, but both my behind and my pride got a good bruising.
Now, you might be thinking, “Good grief! What on earth does her rambling have to do with fragrance?” Well, fear not, I’m getting to it.
A few years ago on one of my annual late spring trips (pre-unemployment, naturally) to my beloved San Francisco, I headed over to the lovely Chanel boutique on Maiden Lane. I walked in the store, so quiet and serene, almost reverential, exuding luxury from every square inch. I headed across the plush ivory carpet, past the to-die-for handbags and down the stairs to the fragrance and cosmetics area, where I could see the glorious glass bottles of the Les Exclusifs on display.
Almost there and then — whoops! I completely miss the last step and go crashing down on my derriere. This, of course, not only knocks the wind out of me, but also mortifies me beyond belief. I’m praying the earth will open up and swallow me, because almost instantly I’m surrounded by security guards, multiple sales associates and the store manager. Turns out I wasn’t hurt, just shaken up, and I got back on my feet as quickly as I could. I assured them that I was all right and got the crowd to disperse as I limped over to the fragrance counter. There I was most attentively helped and given a good selection of samples. So in the end, my humiliation ended fairly well, save for a few days of bruising and soreness. But I might consider donning a disguise were I to visit again.
Anyhoo, what’s been your most embarrassing moment, perfume-wise?