Dear Random Woman Who Sprayed Perfume On Me at Banana Republic,
Although I was seething with anger at the time due to your utter disregard for anyone within 10 inches of your spray attack in the corner nearest to the cash wrap, I must apologize and take back the dirty look I shot you when I was hit with the blunt force of your spray on the entire left side of my body. Woman, I hate to admit this, but I smell GOOD. I don't know what the heck was in that pocket atomizer you were brandishing, but it suits me like a puffy sleeved blouse and a pair of limited edition "Holly" flats stamped with the name Salvatore Ferragamo on the sole. It's now four hours later, and my left arm scent is intoxicating. I can't stop sniffing myself, and I don't care who notices. A hint of musk, pink peppercorn, and what is that sweetness...cinnamon? Nutmeg? Candied orange? Chai tea? WHAT IS IT, LADY?? I have to know. I have to wear this on my person every single day for the rest of my life.
Pretty Lady with the Brown Bob and Tribal Printed Blouse, if you're reading this right now, email me. Tell me what magical concoction you were hiding in that purse. What oh what is this indecipherable potion that conjures images of Italian terraces, mopeds on cobblestones, a bushel of lollipops, lazy cats in fading sunshine, striped scarves, and a lost Tamara de Lempicka painting? I will not rest until I find out. Or until I find you...
Girl in the White Ruffled Blouse, Blue Pinafore Dress, Tatty Brown 1970's Loafers, and one Parrot Made Out of New Mexican Stone Hanging on a Black Cord Around Her Neck
p.s. Man, I hope I'm worthy of this scent.
p.p.s. I mean, I hope I can afford it.