Wednesday, September 10, 2008
I Want My Hymen Back
Sometimes I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could return to the days when four fragrant lovers satisfied me and made me complete. I recall the good ole days with a particular fascination and innocence. Back then, I would wear a perfume every day for an entire season. I’d romance that perfume day and night, never switching during the course of a day. I was seasonally monogamous with each perfume love. I’d only switch to a different perfume love when the seasons changed and it was unquestionably the right moment to move along to my next perfume love. It wasn’t a sad parting, because I knew we’d be back together the next season. I’d switch scented partners four times per year. I miss those days, when I was a perfume virgin.
Perfume virginity allowed me to fully cherish and romance one single fragrance for approximately four straight months. As a perfume virgin, my clothing, my car, my house, my bed linens would smell recognizably like “me.” Because even though I switched my scented loves each season, I cherished each fragrance long enough for them to be recognized as my signature scents, for them to become me.
These days I’m a whore. A slut. A trollop. I probably have over 350 bottles of perfume. I like all of them, but I don’t love and cherish and fully know each and every one. I slut around, giving about 2-4 perfumes a spin each day. Sometimes I’m so quick with a particular fragrance it’s nearly a ‘wham bam thank you ma’am’ experience. I’m so eager for my next perfume fix that the scent of the previous one still lingers on my skin and I have to shower it off so the next perfume won’t know just how recently I was with another. I’m constantly on the prowl, looking for the next gorgeous composition, the newest trophy, or the vintage old classic I somehow missed.
I miss the contentment of perfume virginity. I wish I could go back in time but I can’t. I’m too far gone now. Perhaps I could join David Duchovny at the rehabilation center where he being treated for sex addiction. Damn, I bet he smells good. How would I pack for the rehab? I wonder how many bottles I could fit in my suitcase.