Fragrance Reviews by the white marmoset

The other day, while walking past The Help's room, I noticed a strangely familiar fragrance emanating from within (much too strongly, I might add). "That's strange..." I thought, "has she gone into my wardrobe and doused herself with my Quercus?" A bit later I tracked her down and commented on the loveliness of her scent. "It's ck one's...been wearing it for years." Crushing blow delivered. I gave her what was left of my bottle of the Penhaligans...she's a good worker.

a haiku pour vous by way of review:

succulent flowers
bloom in a cemetery
after a rain storm

exceptional.

the crystal bowl on the table, while full to its rim, contained only clear, yellow and cream coloured gumdrops - the spicy ones that not many people cared for.

a sober, gentlemanly scent that makes me feel as though there's a bristle brush about to officiously wipe the stray hairs off my face and the back of my neck and then give me a lollipop.

The light golden brown of the sun shining through a sliced dry fig placed next to a raisin (which is, itself, situated next to an ashtray). This oriental fruitcake makes one happy to be human. I thank You!

The smell of rummaging around granny's underwear drawer - I did it, so I know. Now, I like a skanky scent as much as the next guy (ummm...probably more) but this one simply doesn't cut it for me: a fox wearing too much stage make-up or the scent wafting up from the casket of the monkey Nora Desmond's burying in Sunset Boulevard. ewww.

a romp through a perfect fairy forest - all the sublimity of nature in a bottle - this is what Oberon sweats, I think

a zingy, acid green cloud suddenly swept through the kitchen and then swiftly disappeared again, leaving behind only it's memory and the smell of baking cookies

a cab driver eats an orange