Hello, my favorite grandson. You look really good today. You've become a really great, handsome young man. I'm glad you're finally coming to see me again. But couldn't you have let me know? Now the fridge is empty and I have something to offer you. Why don't you sit down in the living room while I take a look at what the fridge and my little closet have to offer?
The little angel on my left shoulder, which by the way is on the left side of my neck, on which I applied "Tom Ford Noir Extreme" a few hours before, nodded to me friendly and with a very warm smile. He said that this bravery suits me very well and enchants my environment extraordinarily.
Now Grandma came out of the kitchen. Of course, she found something to eat. I was so happy about the vanilla cookies, which smelled so warm, so vanilla delicious and tasted delicious in the end. Somehow everything fit today and even the warmly smiling angel on my shoulder was beside herself with joy, the vanilla biscuit came so close to what could only be heard a few centimeters beside him at the neck of the good grandson and what only conjured up the so dearly pleasing angel. And there sat the grandson now, wearing a shirt, dark jeans and brown lace-up shoes, all finely dressed and ironed, his hair neatly parted aside and always admonished by the angel to listen nicely to the dear old woman, to speak well to her. "Be good, be courteous, be good," were the words of the now annoyingly moralizing chatterer on my shoulder. I have to go back to school tomorrow. I'm sure I won't take him there.
All right, then. Alarm clock rings, the supposedly well-behaved grandson gets up, has breakfast, gets ready and sprints to the tram again, although it runs every three minutes anyway. On my right shoulder this time again such a little angel has spread itself. He looks just as good as the other one. Well, that can be something. Why does he always have his mirror in his hand and powder his face? Honestly, I want the other one back. This one here is so dismissive and in his own way somehow penetrating.
I got on the tram and was in a good mood again. Despite rush hour traffic, the traffic was flowing and the tram came through well. The little angel, who had climbed around in Greifswalder Straße, asked me if it should behave differently, if I had anything wrong with him. I replied that this was not necessary and that I had already become halfway accustomed to his peculiarities. The penetrance had disappeared a bit and now he also seemed to thaw a bit, to become warmer and friendlier.
The trip took over an hour and when I arrived at the university, I realized that the seminar, which I was really looking forward to because of the topic, was cancelled. Couldn't they have sent an e-mail to me and my fellow students? What's so hard about that? My mood was in the cellar and also the face of my companion had darkened, which already struck me during the last quarter of an hour in the Gesindelcontainer, into which I rose now again.
I don't know what was going on on the way home. Nothing went well. The S-Bahn was delayed at first. The one I entered was full to bursting. So we all stood close together. Fortunately only I could see the little angel, just because it constantly grimaces at the other passengers. The train got even fuller, the people more irritated and so it happened. A middle-aged gentleman asked me rather unkindly to move up even further so that he could hold on to the next best opportunity. I replied that this was not possible because I could not move here either. It was just too crowded. A concert of abuse began: "You're too stupid to think logically. Why don't you just get up when people ask you to? The people here in the public places just suck." Little angel on my shoulder jumped up and down with rage, screamed at me that I shouldn't put up with something like that. What a dark mine angel had. Devil would have been the more appropriate expression. In any case, he was something in between - a hybrid version of angel and devil. I replied to the S-Bahn proletarian that he could also take his car if he was so annoyed by everyone here. The figure on my shoulder, half angel, half devil, says I should give him an extra one. But at the same time my shoulder visitor revises his statement and says that this is perhaps a bit exaggerated and that it would be enough to throw another peppery statement at the proletarian. The S-Bahn proletariat was about to launch a counterattack to meet the statement I made earlier, but I beat him. I cynically suggested to him not to take the car, because those who are already overwhelmed with the use of public transport should not take on even more complex tasks, such as driving a car. The little devil on my shoulder raved and asked why I didn't react even dirtier, only to have a warmer smile again a few seconds later, to nod in agreement and to say that it was already right the way I reacted and that sometimes he was a little too evil, too much exaggerated.
Short conclusion for the non-members of Parfumo, who just came by chance to this page to look at reviews for "Valentino Uomo Intense" and stayed on until the end of my little story:
The iris note, opened with the Uomo Intense, is refreshing for some, penetrating, pungent and unpleasant for others, but after a short time the fragrance becomes warmer and more vanilla. This warmth, this friendliness, this brightness, however, is already complemented and perfectly contrasted afterwards by dirtiness, by darkness, by black leather. This fragrance is a composition that has something evil about it, which is always held back by the good thing, namely vanilla. At the same time, the evil, the dirty, i.e. the leather, ensures that the perfect niceness, as we find it in "Noir Extreme", does not prevail too much. Who carries this smell has on one shoulder the angel, on the other the devil and thus the perfect balance, not too dear, but also not too naughty.