Whether I'm walking into a gift shoppe or someone's guest bathroom, the reaction is the same. When I get a whiff of a dusty bowl of potpourri, I immediately am transported to a land of abandoned Beanie Babies, nicotine-stained gingham curtains, and frosted tips on both fingernails and hair.
And not, let me be clear, in a good way.
I adore things that smell good. Hand-poured candles, fresh lavender, clean skin… The smell of the great outdoors makes me swoon, but I don't want a nest of pinecones, leaves, orange peel, and dried rose petals artfully arranged in a Longaberger basket on the back of my toliet. That doesn't smell like the outside; it smells like a Bed Bath & Beyond managed by a chain smoker who just came off break and spritzed herself with a celebrity fragrance. Or maybe that's just me. Potpourri doesn't mask smells or freshen the room. It just smells like a big bowl of sad.
Like a mullet, I can't quite believe I haven't punched potpourri in its dessicated face.
(photo: sanaakosirickylee.wordpress.com)
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1 comment:
Potpourri is for those who just can't get enough stink in their lives; their heavily-scented cologne, hairspray and deodorant fight with their Fab New Scent dryer sheets for dominance, and the potpourri comes in and kicks the winner's ass. Learn to hold your breath for half an hour at a time. It'll come in handy.
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