The Last Kiss

Someone has learnt from mistakes made, for more details surrounding that see the misadventures of M, and this year I actually got a very, very nice post-golf-trip gift. In the shape of a pinkcoloured perfume from Fragonard. And although my skills in French alas leaves a very whole lot to be desired I think I've figured out as much as the name Juste un baisier means The last kiss.

Which is a pleasantly wistful name, that goes very well with the scent - a combination of blackberry, strawberry and vanilla, delicious! - and the pretty bottle. Notice that the perfume came with that small pink (!) heartshaped (!) refraicheur so you can easily have a small amount of the scent available in the handbag (!). Quel grand whim.

This year the golf trip went to the south of France, and as it happens the vicinity of Grasse. Which is, as one should very well know, the perfume capital of the world. I was certainly aware of that, however I wasn't aware of the fact that this particular trip was going in that direction. Until it was a fact at home again. And I'm just appalled about the fact that neither M nor his fellow golfers had the slightest bit of interest in a a guided tour at a parfumerie.

I mean, really, countless are the times I've eluded tours at whisky distilleries, had a nap in the car, sat in the adjacent tearoom, walked in the nearby garden, enjoyed my moment in the sun, anything to avoid a mindnumbingly boring visit to. Yet. Another. Distillery. But fluids that are really worth sniffing out, then you get this that shockingly blatant uninterest. Go figure.