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02/27/2021
Marieposa
33 Reviews
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Marieposa
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22
The hour of a new woman
Whenever Aunt Käthe announced herself for Sunday roast, the little girl would tiptoe conspicuously unobtrusively near the entrance hall, so as not to miss it when Berta opened the door and Käthe floated in at the door with her carrying voice and cooing laugh.
The aunt was different. It started when she drove up in her OWN car, honking loudly, which Mutti only acknowledged with an exasperated snort - and elicited a disrespectful comment from Vati: Woman at the wheel, monster. No one dared mention what had happened to their own car. Immediately before Daddy had hired the chauffeur.
It could not be entirely ruled out that he was thus scolding the aunt because she had refused to become Mrs. Director at that time, preferring to enroll at the university under a false name. A scandal that had forced the grandmother to bed with a migraine for a whole week. At least that's what the neighbors whispered to each other. But then everything had turned out all right and Mutti had become Frau Direktor instead of her sister.
Aunt Käthe always told completely different stories than Mutti or her friends. She laughed louder than the other women ever did, and lit her own cigarette with the greatest naturalness, as if the men were not there at all. She had travelled halfway round the world, although she had no husband to look after her. Mutti always emphasized that very much, but the little girl had never understood why. Aunt Käthe seemed to be able to take care of herself quite well.
Besides, Aunt Käthe always smelled so wonderful: a tiny hint of smoke mingled with powdery flowers, shimmering cool greens, and dark wood. But there was something else, too. Human and alive.
Auntie never rebuked the little girl, telling her to sit up straight and take her elbows off the table. And even when she had neatly cut off the lace trim from her Sunday dress with the tinker's scissors and then trimmed her doll's curls, it had only elicited a deep, cooing laugh from her aunt. "She's just like you were then," Mommie had hissed, red marks forming on her neck.
Years later, hardly anyone will turn their nose up at the young woman who still doesn't like lace trims and would rather stick her nose between books than care about something as mundane as Sunday roast. Her fragrance is brand new to the market, called No19, and it's by Chanel. It reminds her a little of her admired aunt, but it's clearer, more unfussy and cooler.
**
I beg your pardon for the anachronism. I'm well aware that Heure Exquise is a whopping thirteen years younger than No19, but still, the scent tempts you to think it's always been there - or at least almost. I smell vintage charm, a tiny bit of melancholy and passion pulsing barely concealed beneath the surface, and a heady mix of cool and warm. An animalic note adds liveliness, but also makes me personally prefer No19 or Jacomo's Silences.
The aunt was different. It started when she drove up in her OWN car, honking loudly, which Mutti only acknowledged with an exasperated snort - and elicited a disrespectful comment from Vati: Woman at the wheel, monster. No one dared mention what had happened to their own car. Immediately before Daddy had hired the chauffeur.
It could not be entirely ruled out that he was thus scolding the aunt because she had refused to become Mrs. Director at that time, preferring to enroll at the university under a false name. A scandal that had forced the grandmother to bed with a migraine for a whole week. At least that's what the neighbors whispered to each other. But then everything had turned out all right and Mutti had become Frau Direktor instead of her sister.
Aunt Käthe always told completely different stories than Mutti or her friends. She laughed louder than the other women ever did, and lit her own cigarette with the greatest naturalness, as if the men were not there at all. She had travelled halfway round the world, although she had no husband to look after her. Mutti always emphasized that very much, but the little girl had never understood why. Aunt Käthe seemed to be able to take care of herself quite well.
Besides, Aunt Käthe always smelled so wonderful: a tiny hint of smoke mingled with powdery flowers, shimmering cool greens, and dark wood. But there was something else, too. Human and alive.
Auntie never rebuked the little girl, telling her to sit up straight and take her elbows off the table. And even when she had neatly cut off the lace trim from her Sunday dress with the tinker's scissors and then trimmed her doll's curls, it had only elicited a deep, cooing laugh from her aunt. "She's just like you were then," Mommie had hissed, red marks forming on her neck.
Years later, hardly anyone will turn their nose up at the young woman who still doesn't like lace trims and would rather stick her nose between books than care about something as mundane as Sunday roast. Her fragrance is brand new to the market, called No19, and it's by Chanel. It reminds her a little of her admired aunt, but it's clearer, more unfussy and cooler.
**
I beg your pardon for the anachronism. I'm well aware that Heure Exquise is a whopping thirteen years younger than No19, but still, the scent tempts you to think it's always been there - or at least almost. I smell vintage charm, a tiny bit of melancholy and passion pulsing barely concealed beneath the surface, and a heady mix of cool and warm. An animalic note adds liveliness, but also makes me personally prefer No19 or Jacomo's Silences.
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