Just For Fun

Confessions of a Perfume Slut, Better After 50

I am a perfume slut.

I can’t be faithful to just one fragrance. I have serial love affairs; no signature scent for me. This morning, I own thirty-something bottles of perfume and 103 sample vials on a dedicated closet shelf. And that doesn’t include the bottles I’ve grown tired of this year and given away.

Some people are drawn to wine, and can parse the specifics – an oaky taste, or notes of cinnamon or chocolate or grass. For me, it is perfume that plucks the strings of my neural wiring. Smell is the most primitive sense, a synaptic relay station to the limbic system, where memory and emotion lodge.

Just as some women can tell you exactly what they wore or what they weighed at every significant event in their lives, I can tell you what perfume I was wearing….

Tupperware, Schtupperware, Huffington Post

I have an embarrassing confession. 

Last week I was invited to a Tupperware party. That’s not the embarrassing part.

The embarrassing part is that I went….

25 Signs You’re A Veteran Mom, Scary Mommy

Maybe it starts when you realize rock concerts give you a headache. Or that you're offering to cut up other people's food. Or that you catch yourself ending a discussion with, "Because I'm the mother, that's why." You've reached a new level of motherhood. All the warning signs are there. You know you've crossed the threshold when:

1. You count the sprinkles on each kid's cupcake to make sure they're equal.

2. You want to take out a contract on the kid who broke your son's favorite toy and made him cry.

3. You have time to shave only one leg at a time….