It was a cold day in Boise today, with snow still on the ground from a small passing storm that sprinkled an inch's worth yesterday. While the sun did shine brilliantly this morning, I decided to wear my latest acquisition this evening, to remind a former Floridian of what a warm sun in December feels like. I decided to wear Chergui.
The moment arrived after a refreshing shower. I screwed off the cap and screwed on the spray attachment then following my usual routine, I sprayed on each inner wrist, and one to the chest. I'd now normally have sprayed a bit on the collar but I decided against it for Chergui, aware of its projective power.
Soon after, I felt like I was enveloped by what I can only describe as light, a strangely warm glowing amber, like that thrown by a streetlight on a dark night. The rest of my preparation was interrupted every so often by a need to smell my wrist; a note would waft upwards as I put on my shirt and I'd stand transfixed.
My wife stopped in to see what was taking so long and asked what I was wearing as she stepped forward to sniff my neck. This was followed by a long, slow shutting of the eyes, the pure pleasure of Chergui forcing the pre-eminence of the olfactory sense over all her others.
After seeing this, I decided right there and then: "This is it. It's over. I'm done."
Chergui is sunshine, bottled; it is a smile on the face of a beautiful woman, it is the laugh of a happy child, it is a 12-year-old The Macalan scotch, it is winning a game of chess, it is landing a Cessna 172 in a crosswind with hardly a squeak, it is my wife's eyes, closed in sensuous pleasure.
It is my Holy Grail.
The moment arrived after a refreshing shower. I screwed off the cap and screwed on the spray attachment then following my usual routine, I sprayed on each inner wrist, and one to the chest. I'd now normally have sprayed a bit on the collar but I decided against it for Chergui, aware of its projective power.
Soon after, I felt like I was enveloped by what I can only describe as light, a strangely warm glowing amber, like that thrown by a streetlight on a dark night. The rest of my preparation was interrupted every so often by a need to smell my wrist; a note would waft upwards as I put on my shirt and I'd stand transfixed.
My wife stopped in to see what was taking so long and asked what I was wearing as she stepped forward to sniff my neck. This was followed by a long, slow shutting of the eyes, the pure pleasure of Chergui forcing the pre-eminence of the olfactory sense over all her others.
After seeing this, I decided right there and then: "This is it. It's over. I'm done."
Chergui is sunshine, bottled; it is a smile on the face of a beautiful woman, it is the laugh of a happy child, it is a 12-year-old The Macalan scotch, it is winning a game of chess, it is landing a Cessna 172 in a crosswind with hardly a squeak, it is my wife's eyes, closed in sensuous pleasure.
It is my Holy Grail.
You're FAR from being done. Soon enough your grail will be revealed to be but a beautiful cup. You're just like the rest of us and have really gotten "the bug." You'll probably be like me and be convinced you've found "your scent" and then somebody will send you something or you'll smell someone in about six months and then you'll be off again.
