I wish I’d only smell this and didn’t have to taste.
Dior Homme Intense by Dior – Review
7
Dior Homme Intense is something of a “little black dress” for me. I discovered it in Dublin early last year and much like my experience of Ambre Sultan, I found myself returning time and time again to the Dior counter in all of the big department stores. I can always wear it and feel my chin rise, shoulders drop and back straighten. In my best black shirt, jeans and shoes I am very much a different man, I feel a little older, a little sophisticated. I’m not completely myself, but that’s the desired effect.
What intrigues me at this present moment, is how I can track my memory associations with Dior Homme Intense. A fair few of my wardrobe staples are pre-2010, when my love for perfume was a little less passionate than what it is today. Never the less, my love grows and as too does that for all my little wardrobe pieces.
Intense beginnings
On a particularly hot sunny spring day in Dublin, Saturday 9th April 2010, I was making my way into town to enjoy the stress-free lazy day I had planned. I went to The Stage Door, got a dependably great latte to go and moseyed about the shops. Nearing Arnotts and dropping my cup off, I made my way to the usual Guerlain counter as I had never before smelled anything from them. Familiarising myself on a regular basis, this day was no more unusual than the previous few. And as I made my way to Dior I looked at a sturdy, heavy black and amber coloured bottle. The scent card was wetted and I went in.
Boy was it different. It was neither a sporty smell, or overly feminine. Neither sharp, or too warm. Too heavy or too light. What was this?
I lathered my neck, shirt collar and upper chest. I stepped outside back into the sun and heat and made my way to the museum. And there with my sunglasses on, on that walk along the LUAS line, is the exact place and time where Dior Homme Intense can take me to this day. My iPod was unplugged, there was a strange inner-city silence, and I’m loving the smell surrounding me. It was a very uneventful day by comparison, but proof that the simple things in life are the best.
So what does a simple perfume smell like?
The juice itself… Hmm, a lot of blogs, noses and opinions talk about a “make-up” or “lipstick” note in it—that it’s reminiscent of lady’s cosmetics. I can see where they’re coming from, but I find that doesn’t do it justice either. Without the cliché, I would describe it as, sunshine in a bottle. It truly does smell of the best aspects of spring and summer.
In the first few minutes there’s a touch of skank and the faintest familiarity of Shalimar, a little civet-like to me but my no means foul. Floral in the middle for sure, and bloody brilliant for a man’s perfume to include a braver amount of florals than usual, though comparably less than in Dior Homme. Around this point is a cocoa, powdery base that’s unquenchable and goes on all day. Not chocolatey mind you, but of cocoa powder and floral powder. What Intense is “intense” for is wood, dry wood, think pencil shavings and nothing else. Vetiver and cedarwood are combined with buttery, creamy, floral musks thanks to ambrette and everthing just smells alive, drinkable and edible, not cloying either.
My only gripe with Dior Homme Intense is its projection. Sometimes I feel later on in the day if I’ve at all wore a good amount of it, or not enough. The smell certainly lasts, but I have to get up close to my wrist.
Ah yes, and there’s the sticky topic of its reformulation at the sketchy hands of Dior. Whilst I haven’t smelled the newer formulation, I find it sad that something this original should be tampered with so soon in its life. Understandable that the cost of raw-materials do go up or houses are struggling to make money. Or that they’re even trying to bleed us dry? I’m on the fence. I don’t know the inner workings of a massive company, but what I would tell them is to please refrain from knee-jerk reformulations. There’s a guy over here who has barely had time to enjoy it before it’s been altered!
What do you think?
Does Dior Homme Intense embody all that is the best of spring and summer? Is it a bit too feminine for a man? Or is this classy, tall, dark and handsome stuff?
Jasmin et Cigarette by Etat Libre d’Orange – Review
Homer Simpson eats them. At their sight and smell, hay fever sufferers run for the hills and a handful of pills. They’re the epitome of femininity. Yes, it’s flowers. It dawned on me today how little “floral” perfume I have. Unbeknown to me, I’ve completely missed this fragrance family altogether. Not through some subconscious dislike either—I doubt I’ve been traumatised by a daisy in some past-life. On the contrary, I love flowers. When I have money to enjoy I buy a fresh bunch of lilies for my house. It took two scent-events where the smell of lilies would be imprinted on my mind as a beautiful thing; visiting my friend’s house as a teenager and her mum always having a vase of them on her hall table, and the other, one particularly “hot” summer’s evening. It doesn’t stop there, carnations, roses—all that pollen, all that flower smell, it’s all good.
So where are the absolute abundant amount of flowers in my perfume wardrobe?
Ok, I’m not naïve, one or two perfumes I own definitely have some floral materials in their make up. Let’s see, ah, Habit Rouge by Guerlain—rose. Burberry for Women by Burberry—geranium. Dior Homme Intense by Dior—iris. Everything I have seems to be, citrus, woody, a little gourmand, spicy, clean, smoky… Yet there’s no straight-up floral bitches like Daisy by Mark Jacobs, Fracas by Robert Piguet or Flower by Kenzo. So logic would tell me that liking flowers mean I should like floral perfume.
I realise it sounds as if this is going somewhere like, “I better correct this,” and you’d be right. The truth of the matter is, I dislike a lot of floral perfume already out there. It’s kind of, “Yeah, I’ve already smelled that before…”
So in order to correct this* I’m going to go through most of my samples and dig out more pretty smells** and see what I’m missing out on.
Jasmin the torch singer
My impression of a torch singer. I did this in 2005 when I was drawing more.
You didn’t think I’d start with something as complex as Fracas? No, I think a good introduction is something easier to grasp, Jasmin et Cigarette by Etat Libre d’Orange. You may already know how much of a fan I am of Etat’s infamous third cousin (twice removed) Sécrétions Magnifiques, boy was it unusual enough for my taste. So I thought I’d consciously explore his temptress of a sister, Jasmin et Cigarette.
This review is based on a sample, paid to me in kindness for work from The Candy Perfume Boy. Firstly I thought Jasmin et Cigarette would be a quirky, fun way into my adventurous trek of more floral odours. It’s certainly quirky, I haven’t smelled anything similar to it before. It’s original trying to use something as uncommon as a “cigarette” note in perfumery and it also straddles the floral aspect too. I was sold.
So what does she smell like?
The first initial spray and following sniff is a mix of alcohol and cigarettes with the promise of jasmine flowers underneath. Funny, because had Etat’s marketing made Jasmin et Cigarette out to be a drinking torch singer, the “alcohol” here would be apt—no it’s just the alcohol in the fragrance. However I love how the cigarette note, not at all like an ashtray, fades away rather quickly. At first I thought it should linger around longer, like I was listening to this temptress sing her heart out, with a lit cigarette glued to her hand, hand glued to the mic.
The cigarette smell isn’t smoky, poisonous or even eyeball drying. A little too muted? It’s hay-like, soft, pleasant even. The memories of growing up with a cigarette smoking family are rising in the back of my mind, like the smoke they inhaled (poetic huh?). In any case the tobacco note quickly fades, but never leaves, and what I’m left smelling is watery jasmine, kind of sparkling and silver-pinkish. In some ways it has a, “Can I take a bite out of it?” feel, and maybe that’s a quirk in my head that would please Etat Libre d’Orange, they have that sense of humour.
That’s all I’m really left with, which is a shame. I thought it would be a little more complex or even tenacious, that it would develop just a little more too. It kind of just, fades away… My creative mind is telling me this is fitting. The idea that the torch singer walks away after her three song minimum, two men in the bar don’t applaud, and her aroma too leaves the building.
The whole thing hours later smells so muted, so subtle that it’s barely there at all. Maybe it’s like smelling her clothes, the jasmine her skin, the smell of stale cigarettes on her dress. It’s kind of sad in a way. The jasmine feels very mellow too. I know it can be a belter of a material if handled in such a way, like Lush’s Lust fragrance – too cloying for my tastes that one. I’d love it if the jasmine in Jasmin et Cigarette would be a little more phwoar. With maybe a little more ash and butt in there. And a little more stage-presence. A little more torch.
*I’m not actually trying to correct myself.
**Flowers do not equate pretty. What am I prejudice?
What do you think?
What are your thoughts on Jasmin et Cigarette? Is she a temptress, torch or harlot? What other florals out there could you recommend to me?
Ambre Sultan by Serge Lutens – Review
Where do I start? At a church in the presence of a burning thurible? In a dry dessert on the spice trail? A drop of myrrh? Maybe I should start with a shade of amber, a shade so golden and orange, deep and clear, so warm, so comforting, so rich and regal it is the shade to end all shades. No perfume has had me coming back to it at a shop as frequently or as obsessively as Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan. A perfume that to my nose is the single-most perfect perfume (dare I say) ever. True, I may be a little late to the game (released in 1993). True, it sounds like I may be rubbing the perfumer’s ego (Christopher Sheldrake’s), however I can not deny how much I adore Ambre Sultan, or describe how good it smells. How can something smell so god-damn good? How can it move me so? Where do I start?
Amber beginnings
I think it started a few months ago actually. I had recently split myself between Belfast and home working part-time over the holidays. Making fairly frequent trips to all the perfume jaunts around town. I came to House of Fraser and there I found the Serge Lutens line. I remember hearing about this brand before, the classic bell jars, the elegant design, but I never went in, I never smelled them before. What I do remember was stopping my perfume-sampling-gorge-fest and pausing, I was in the presence of something I knew I wanted to get to know. I wanted to familiarise myself with this juice. I wanted to know it’s skin, it’s character, it’s life. I pocketed the scent strip and lashed my neck with the shop tester. I’d be back.
And back I came, frequently. I was in every week, “Can I help you?” “No thank-you, I’m just browsing.” Yeah right. They knew it, I knew it, I only came in to spray and go. I was that customer (I won’t deny my right to do this anywhere mind you). And as the weeks went by I kept warming to Ambre Sultan, like it’s dry-down, I was warming up. Why was I always finding myself coming back to it? Of all the choices and all the “that’s nice’s” why was it so compelling?
Because the others were “nice” and this wasn’t.
It’s the quality, it has to be. I’ve since tried other amber offerings from Armani Privé, Prada and L’Artisan Parfumer. Yet none of theirs left as deep an impression. Ambre Sultan, on me, just works. It’s as simple as that. It’s as if it’s the perfume I’ve been waiting to wear all my life. Like someday it knew I would come along and it would whisper through my nostrils, up my brain and make that mark any perfume lover knows all too well. It feels so familiar and foreign, precious and perfect.
So, what does the best perfume ever smell like?
When I first wear it, it’s incense. That frankincense, arid feel, prickly and serious is noticeable but not demanding. The faint memories of mass and funerals are glowing ambers in my mind. It’s bitter and balsamic, never sour and offensive. After a few hours, Ambre Sultan never lets go, it has a brilliant tenaciousness that at the turn of my head, the warm spices encircle and the amber theme is always present. Sweet, without a cloying feel. Woody, without the pencil shavings. Glowing, without being blinded. There’s not a flower in sight and I’m in heaven. It’s the epitome of resinous and warmth. Everything about this perfume feels considered, balanced, like Sheldrake knew exactly what he was doing. And who am I to fault this? I can’t. Everything develops at the right pace, the right way with the right feel. Even the gentle embossed texture of the bottle’s label and box feels right (not specific to Ambre Sultan, but there you go).
Call it love at first sniff, head over heels or “Ok, we get it, Liam,” but Ambre Sultan has made it into my nook, the nook where only a select few perfumes make. Cuddle up to me and my nook and I’ll probably be wearing this.
What do you think?
Is Ambre Sultan the best perfume ever? Can you say that about a perfume you own? Am I letting my heart run away with itself? ;)
Serendipitous Perfume
A few weekends ago I was tasked with training my fellow Lush staff in Belfast regarding all things perfume. I try not to think of myself as an expert, however I do know a thing or two and what I love doing most of all is inspiring those around me about perfume. I really do believe there’s an infinite number of stories to be told about fragrance, from the perfumer to the personal, there’s a huge discourse already out there.
I relied a little on an event that inspired me to no end this summer in order to get this job done, and that was when Odettte Toilette visited Dublin. That evening I was left with an enlightenment of sorts. I never thought my imagination could be sparked, fired and soothed simply by smelling fragrance. I’ve always been intrigued by memory and smell, but that evening I was turning a corner into the present and appreciating the hear and now of perfume. How does it make me feel? Where am I imagining myself right now?
And so, I wanted to transfer some of that evening to my other Lushies. There was of course business things which I won’t share too much of here, but I hope below sheds some light on how serendipitous the mind can be when it comes to perfume.
Consequences
When Odette Toilette (Lizzie) came to Dublin, she had her attendees play the game of Consequences. It goes like this, one person (me) writes down a set of questions on a sheet of paper. Players each answer one question and fold over their answer so the next player can’t see the previous. At the end it reads a collaborative story where every player has had a say. What this usually means is, there are similarities, surprises and common themes to be found. The perfume twist is that everyone in a group, usually four or five, are each smelling the same perfume whilst answering their questions, and as such, it reveals certain things about that person and the group, based on their answer/s.
Below is group one and two’s answers when smelling Breath of God by Gorilla Perfume. Each answer from each question is from a different person which explains why things don’t match up. However it makes for an interesting read.
Who is this man wearing the fragrance?
- This man is my grandfather. Sitting down on his favourite armchair next to the fire. Smoking his pipe while he flips through the Sunday newspaper.
- Not a man, my grandmother. Smells like her bedside-table drawer—medicinal and cough sweets and hand-cream. Smells like her getting ready for bed.
Describe what his home is like.
- Retro, lots of browns and oranges, leather sofa, clean, no clutter.
- A ski lodge. Fireplace. Mulled wine. Winter all year round. Christmas tree. Warm.
What does he do for a living/what is his job?
- Academic. Lecturer (English?) at a university.
- Something “outdoorsy”—lumberjack!
What are his hobbies/what does he like doing in his spare time?
- Skateboarding and surfing/wakeboarding in the summer. Playing frisbee in the park.
- Mountain biking, taming dinosaurs etc.
When is he most happiest?
- Sports—skiing/snowboarding, being outdoors/active.
- When she is at the kitchen baking cakes for friends or making dinner for family. Caring for people through food.
What is his philosophy to life?
- Live day by day, work for what you want or you won’t get, but remember to do unto others as you would like done to you :)
- Go after your goals. Does his own thing. Makes his own rules.
When I read out the answers to everyone, we were all shocked to hear that the two groups matched grandparents to Breath of God and that he/she liked being outdoors, active and enjoying nature. Is this your grandfather/mother? Could you sell this perfume to a person perhaps wishing to buy their grandparent a gift?
Here’s the second set of Consequences.
Who is this man wearing the fragrance?
- A young girl actually, in her teens struggling with her identity. Not sure of what she likes or what she wants to smell like during the day…?
- French chef/owner of deli. Fun, jokey, bouncy, enthusiastic, heart and soul.
Describe what his home is like.
- In the middle of nowhere in a forest or on top of some cliffs or both. Windy, wood fire, warm with a fresh breeze, white linens on the bed.
- A tent or a teepee, orange or light in colour so when the sun shines on the tent in the morning it is warm and bright.
What does he do for a living?
- Something that allows him to have a massive big beard.
- Doctor/Vet
What are his hobbies/what does he like doing in his spare time?
- Playing the banjo, building model ships and cooking stew.
- Tent-building, fig gathering, scimitar-sharpening. There are not that many hobbies in the desert.
When is he most happiest?
- Travelling/trekking, sleeping in tents etc.
- Having a drink and dancing to a ska/reggae band.
What is his philosophy to life?
- Live life in the moment, be spontaneous.
- Take each day as it comes. Live life to the fullest.
It was so revealing to discover that collectively, The Smell of Freedom by Gorilla Perfume was making several people think of tents. It is such a specific association to make and I can confirm that no one was sharing answers or whispering! In some ways it’s not surprising that people think of the outdoors. Perfume is plucked from nature, and so I think most people associate something in a fragrance back to nature.
It’s fun to create a fragrance character profile this way. Perhaps this man is indeed a vet? Maybe he lives in the outback of Australia, in the desert, in an orange tent with a big beard cooking stew for supper. He plays the banjo when the sun goes down and is spontaneous with his improvisation. His outlook on life is to take each day as it comes and live life to the fullest.
I couldn’t agree more myself.
Confetti
I was asked a while back, “Would you be interested in giving me your ‘scentpertise’ for a fragrance article?” I smiled and said, “I do.”
Irish bridal magazine, Confetti, and Beaut.ie blogger Kirstie McDermott was wanting to lift the veil on perfume and personality/bridal types and I was thrilled to give my two “scents” on the topic.
If you’re in Ireland, pick up the Winter 2011 edition and flip to pages 56 and 57. And while you’re at it, read Kirstie’s words of wisdom too on all things fragrant.
I thought I’d also publish here the scentpertise questions. In print, like film, some things wind up on the cutting room floor.
Do you think certain fragrance notes go with a certain personality type? For example, does it follow that lily of the valley will be worn by shy types and massive OTT night blooming jasmine by Amy Winehouse types?
I think to some degree, yes, certain types are attracted to certain odours. We seek out ourselves even in fragrance. Sometimes there’s conditioning and influence involved. Men and women of every age are led to believe a few things because of marketing and advertising. In perfume, younger women tend to seek out what’s infamously named on perfume forums and websites, as a “fruitichouli.” Think, Juicy Couture and Harajuku Lovers by Gwen Stefani. These are scents you know and can recognise. They’re young, bubblegummy, sweet, fruity, floral and incredible tenacious to wear. They smell like pineapples, nondescript flowers and are chock full of sweets. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The mainstream, high-street has a high volume of these, and so doing, more often than not, women tend to pick these because of a saturated variety of choice. The perfume tends to be cheaper to make too.
I will say though, the rule is, there is no rule. Perfume is inexorably personal. You are guaranteed to be surprised when you know your friend loves Angel by Thierry Mugler, but hates Flowerbomb by Vikor & Rolf. They smell quite similar, but something in the juice can stand out miles to her, and not to you. Perception has a huge role to play too. What you can actually identify in what you’re smelling. Emotions have a say too. How you feel about a smell. You can begin to see how not black and white and all encompassing it is!
Do we gravitate towards certain smells based on our personalities and by extension the things we’re interested in? For example, if you’re an extrovert it’s more likely you’re going to be out and about exploring, being open to experiences – and therefore possibly more adventurous scent choices – than if you’re at home a lot, not doing those things. If you’re a nosey type you may research fragrance more, too. Would that be a fair thing to say?
Again it’s hard to say. A quiet, comfortable woman may dress to be unseen. But, she could really surprise you some day when her presence is announced by an outrageous perfume like Gucci Rush. She might not “get it” that Gucci Rush is maybe a little big for her quiet personality, but what’s important, is that she simply enjoy the smell for what it is, in all its development.
Perhaps people who are more adventurous are indeed more willing to try new things. I can see spontaneous people spraying every scent card in sight. However I bet that if you were to travel around the perfume counters with them, their adventurous streak may be reigned in around a family of fragrances. Their likes may reveal they love loads of perfume but only in a particular family of fragrances, like floral, gourmand or chypré perfume.
How much does the recent fad for celebrity scent override an ‘inbuilt’ prelediction towards a natural scent style? Do people end up wearing entirely the wrong perfume these days purely because they want to buy into a celebrity lifestyle?
I would say with certainty yes. Jennifer Lopez is on to something like her 18th fragrance release this year. Some women see her as a glamours figurehead, perhaps getting a little over their head when it comes to having the life she has, not necessarily wanting to be her, or even like her. Not being able to live in that way means perfume is an accessible, affordable means to emanate this—depending on the fragrance. If J Lo has one, I can too. If Britney has one, I can too. If Jordan has one, I can too. I personally question the likeability of most of these fragrances, but then, that’s me. My close friend loves Curious by Britney Spears. She’s not a girly-girl, like Britney. In one way, I think she could pick something more suited, but on the flip-side does that really matter? She’s like the smell and that’s the important thing.
The pleasure of perfume shopping is that, it’s not much of a pleasure on the high-street. There’s a lot of celebrity juice out there. Some of it good, some of it I own. But a lot of it is trite to me. It smells very samey. It’s important to remember, to choose the fragrance you feel connected to. Not because you think you have to. Stop to think about something different too, then go and explore that. Ask the Sales Assistant to show you something similar. Celebrities and their perfume are just a small tip of the iceberg of truly, beautiful, astounding perfume.
Any tips for identifying the right scent for you? How should a person who has no real clue about how to buy perfume approach it based on their personality – are there any fail-safe pointers?
I’d go so far as to say, your personality will give away the starting point, after that you should really follow your nose. How do you feel when you smell a fragrance on the scent card? What does it make you think of? If you simply “like it” walk on a bit more. When you are really liking something, stop to try it on your skin. Try on at most two or three. Make sure they are spaced well apart on you skin, not your scarf. Resit the urge to impulse buy. Walk out of the shop and smell it in the fresher air. Give it a few hours. Now what do you think? The perfume will have dried down and you may be bowled over by something later in the day that wasn’t there before, this can be the wonderful thing about perfume. It may surprise you. It might even make you smile.
Lastly, and so importantly, ignore the sale on offer. Ignore the shower gel, deodorant gift set. Do not be fooled by, “That’s really popular,” from the Sales Assistant. And never impulse buy! I’ve regretted a few urges in my time.
Oh and if you’re buying a perfume as a gift, subtly bring the lucky person with you. It sounds sappy to say it this way, but share the time with them and remember their reaction to something. Their eyes will give the game away. Rolled eyes in the back of the head are a very good sign, then you’ll be getting them something you know they love. You can act like you knew all along!
The Bothy – Arthur’s Aunt
Instead of driving a few feet down the road to the Chinese take-away, I decided to walk it for a change. I was having a bad day. Not the worst day, but just a shitter-than-usual one. The fresh air would do me good.
The town was busy for a Tuesday evening—student nights are Thursdays and they were out in force for something.
I made my way into Happy Panda and I had a flashback of my time in China with Chris, my twin brother.
We were in a restaurant that smelled exactly like what Happy Panda was smelling like tonight. Why was this memory coming through now? I’d been here lots of times before, in fact probably too often, so why China and Chris now?
Thinking back on it anyway, what a blast we had. We spent three months just bumming around the country. We started off in Hong Kong for a few weeks. Partying all night and then for days, spending time apart. I would sit in parks drinking coconut milk or tea and could have stayed there all day if it weren’t for the humidity.
We took trains and busses all over the country and spent days in secluded villages that really were off the beaten track and guidebooks. Once, we stayed in this mountain village hut/hostel and couldn’t believe ourselves we were here.
I can remember one night we went out, must have been four in the morning, and followed a path along a river near where we were sleeping. We didn’t have a clue where we were going, or even had any fear for our lives because the slate path was slippery and raised towards the water. We were silent, and this is what I love about my brother, we don’t have to say anything to each other.
The place was still. The cicadas and crickets had even stopped, or I had stopped hearing them. The only noise was my heartbeat, and the sound of the gushing water.
The further we went, the louder it got, and within the hour we knew a waterfall was somewhere upstream.
Chris was so damn happy that night. Here we were, right in the middle of a village, in a gorge, in China. He was, and still is, much more adventurous than me—his decision all along to come here, and to China. When it’s just us two, he brings out the best in me and I’d go along for the caper. Up ahead, he would turn and smile to me every so often with a look on his face that just said, “I can’t believe we’re here.” Cheshire-cat smile.
Soon enough the most unbelievable sight presented itself, the source of this river and nature looking stunning. A waterfall complete with plunge pool and hut-home by the water’s edge. We were gobsmacked and in awe. Living in Belfast all your life you don’t exactly see the world like this, or imagine someone, somewhere is living beside a waterfall.
The moonlight was in a perpetual state of flux as the waterfall made ripples in the pool below. We were getting drenched in the cool spray and decided now was the time to plonk ourselves down and just stare all around us—drinking it in.
We weren’t exactly doing anything wrong, but it felt mischievous none the less. This whole area probably belonged to the village where we were staying.
A Chinese door-greeting beeped out at me and Arthur was working behind the counter at the back.
“Jack, wha’s the craic?”
“All good thanks Arthur. Busy tonight?”
“So-so. Students are out in force like! We’ll be busy later when the pubs shut.”
Arthur’s cool, in his late forties I think. He’s lived here all his life so he tells me, and has a thick west Belfast accent.
“Can’t be a bad thing?”
“Aye, keeps the Mrs happy. What’ll it be?”
“Kung Po chicken.”
“Boiled rice, fried rice?”
“Fried rice.”
He nodded and went back to the kitchen and I sat in a booth with my back to the counter. I flipped through the bunch of newspapers and its innards.
I was getting into a story, of what must be an infinite amount of stories on the failing economy, when I felt a poke on my shin. I cursed and pulled the papers down to see a five foot tall Chinese woman with one leg, two crutches and a jet black beehive hairdo.
“Yo, long face, wha’s up?”
What the…
She poked me again with her left crutch, “Eh, sad face, wha’s up?”
“Hey what are you at?” I tried to brush her off, literally, brush her crutch poking off my leg.
“You come in here tonight, everyone else so happy.”
“Ah, ok…”
“Squeeze up. Make room.”
Oh god no. How long was Arthur going to be? In a place with about twelve free tables, four other people, this woman sits beside me, not even in the facing seat. I couldn’t turn around now too or she’d poke me again.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Man up. Why so sad?” She had direction that’s for sure.
“I’m not sad.”
“Yes, you are. Everyone else here so happy. You… um, not so much.” She was either going for wise and know-it-all, or mental and deranged.
“I’m not sad.”
“Oh yeah big boy,” She burst out laughing, “You are Tommy Cooper. You are laughing. You are smiling.”
“I’m not laughing right now… besides, this is a take-away restaurant at eight-thirty on a Tuesday evening, no one in here is happy.”
“You so clever!” She had a really deep voice when she was being sarcastic. “You come in here, all sighs and tuts and you drag your feet up to my nephew. No pleases or thank yous.”
Ah. Visiting, “I’m sorry…” Was that what she wanted to hear?
“Sorry, pfft! Sorry for wha?”
“For being rude to Arthur. I didn’t think I was.”
“That’s a problem you have! You need work on that!”
I really didn’t need a lecture this evening. I was more than polite to Arthur, I think. I hope. Damn she was confusing me.
“Listen, I don’t need any…”
“Your problem. You having a mild day. Some people are off with you. You take it on board. You not even polite with Huan!”
“I’m sorry, what? Who’s Huan?”
“My nephew!” She swung her crutch and whacked my shin again.
“Stop that!” I yelled. “I forgot, sorry,” I rubbed my shin, “Stop that please.”
“You don’t know hardship. You don’t know difficulty. You think you having bad day, big boy. You need think again.”
“I think my food is ready.”
“No. Huan is too slow, and fat. We have five mo minutes.”
I looked at the clock on the wall—eight-oh-five.
“Do you know Pinocchio?”
Oh my god. Is she being serious? “Yeah. Sure, why not.”
“No sarcasm.”
“I’m sorry, continue.”
“He lies. What happens when he lies?”
“His nose gets longer?”
“Pig shit! He deceives everyone around him. Make them think he telling truth. That’s a lie. He lie to himself.”
“What’s your point?”
“You lie.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes you do.”
“No. I don’t.”
“We do this all night Tommy Cooper!” She laughed her head off at what was fast becoming the wax-on, wax-off moment of her life, and my worst evening imaginable.
“No more lies. Be happy for change.”
“Kung Po chicken fried rice.” A girl said behind me.
“Can you excuse me?” I said to Arthur’s mental aunt.
“Ok, but be happy.” She continued to sit there looking at me. It was then that I noticed her, really noticed her. She had wrinkled skin like I’d never seen before. Her general presence reeked of stale cigarettes and something sweet, like intense vanilla and chocolate. Her breath stank, I was sure of that. But her smile, she looked genuinely happy and content.
“Oh, ok. I promise.”
“Good.” She got up, and hobbled off and poked a woman’s shin a few booths up. “Squeeze up. Make room, Tina Turner.”
It was ten past eight on the clock. I grabbed my food and bolted for the side exit instead of having to pass her and Tina.
