Breaking up is hard to do.

[It’s not spilled perfume, but it’s empty perfume.]

This is actually one of the most oddly refreshing things to happen to me in 2+ years.

I ran out of perfume.

[That’s one thing about cats I love. When they’re done, they’re done. They sniff the carcass and they move on. They don’t spare any tears, either.]

Lots of things have been neatly (or, not neatly) wrapping themselves up for me lately. Just—hey, that’s over; on the the next. And interestingly enough, this was the one thing I was blissfully not really paying attention to the dwindling of. It’s been slowly sinking down into the pinky, faceted depths since Christmas years ago, and I had no idea until I lifted my dainty shell pendant off my neck, looked into the mirror, and poised the bottle to deliver a few squirts.

Nada.

I’m so very much looking forward to a new fragrance—a new spring in my step—a new day.

While we’re here, any recommendations?

-Carey

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