Scent of a Woman

I have a slight obsession with perfume, to the point where I feel naked if I don't leave the house wearing any. I love to smell like lilacs and vanilla. At the tail end of my showering and preparation ritual, I spray every exposed scent-zone with one of the 20 different perfumes that I own. Wrists, chest, throat, behind the ears, back of the neck, and sometimes ankles (scent rises). On Saturday nights, I'll even dust my clothing with my floral smell-goods.

Although my mother used to sneeze every time she hugged me following a fresh spritz (or eight), and my old roommate used to come in my room, sniff the air, and say "mmm...Cookie smell," I never considered my heavy perfume use a potential disorder. My scent choices are much lighter than the grandmas in the fur coats who leave elevators reeking of spiced musk.

But after this Saturday, I'm wondering if I need to re-learn the art of scent application. While lingering with a small group of new acquaintances, one of the men who was standing at least a foot away from me turned to me and asked if I was sporting Light Blue (I wasn't). He could smell me from that great a distance. Yikes! Then, several hours later I was seated on a bench waiting for the metro when the man at the polar opposite end of the bench asked me what scent I was wearing. Although both offered that I smelled delightful, I'm not sure that impressing men a block in the distance is the true intention for perfume.