After twenty-four hours, and more than one washing, the Salome on my arm was still distinct and gorgeous. I probably could have just left it there and considered myself perfumed for the day.
But I wanted to put on something else, while this uncharacteristic rebirth of perfume interest is going on. I considered Byredo Blanche, as a sort of amusing contrast, but it occurs to me that I don't see Blanche as merely shy, but distinctly opinionated about her quiet soapy cleanliness. I think that there would be squabbling, or perhaps silent treatment, if they had to share the same person.
So I dug out my decant of Byredo Pulp instead. A big squashy heap of slightly overripe fruit seems like an affable companion to Salome. And it was.
But it was big. Big. BIG. One spray on the back of my neck (for wafts) and one on my other arm (for direct-sniff updates) and I was drowning in that heap of fruit. I ended up doing the cooking-oil-wash on my arm, and washing the back of my neck, to get it down to only a little too much. I'm going to decant this to a roller, for maximum control. Or maybe mix one drop into a gallon of unscented body cream. Or something.
I don't think that I used to have this problem with Pulp. Is it a summer versus winter thing? Or the long interval of little perfume wearing?
Also, that kitty is staring at me.
That is all.
Image: By Heikki Siltala-catza. Wikimedia Commons.