Fragrance smells better in your hair than it tastes on your tongue

I sometimes amuse myself with the notion of myself as a young-ish, sophisticated, urban woman. Then days like today happen to remind me that it's all just a notion.

L'Eau D'Issey is my favourite perfume. M. gave me a new bottle of it for Christmas. The first time I tried it out, I sprayed so much of the stuff on me I think M.'s car had an allergic reaction to it.

This morning, I decided my blue eyeshadow alone was not enough va-va-voom. But I remembered feeling sick in the fragrance-sodden car, so I tried to apply the perfume the way that M. applies his when he gets ready for work. I sprayed it a couple of inches above my head and walked under the mist. But then as I walked I remembered that sometimes M. misses his own aim. Would it be possible to check the position of the perfumed mist, mid-air?

Which is how I looked up towards the ceiling of my bathroom and got the full blast of L'Eau D'Issey on my face. In my surprise, I gasped, opening my mouth as I did so, thus allowing a hundred odd droplets of perfume to land on my tongue.