4ajbukoshka

It's summer. The air smells of flowers and blossoms and with temperatures above 30 degrees, 4ajbukoshka meets up with her friends in a bath-length, yet summery, backless dress.
Freedom is within reach, you can not only hear and see it around you, but also feel it and - in the form of ice cream - literally taste it.
The girls sit exuberantly in a kind of hipster beer garden and ring in the weekend with soda and boisterous laughter. It could be like this any day!
4ajbukoshka is now wearing her new perfume for the second day in a row. Has anyone noticed it? Nyain.
It is accepted by the girls without comment, while the green malachite, which is similar in its charisma, has repeatedly led (and will probably continue to lead) to Jozha (affectionately called "hedgehog") holding her sweet snub nose in the air and asking what smells so sweetly of coconut and then literally sticks to 4ajbukoshka.
The cockchafers, however, seem to have a thing for nymphs, because even though there are three young ladies at the table, they just fly into 4ajbukoshka's hair (and get tangled there), onto her back, into her dress, and everywhere else.
Does it look stupid the way 4ajbukoshka jumped up from the table in a panic and skipped around the beer garden whimpering, hoping to get rid of her new fans? Most likely. She didn't know what she was chasing until a waitress was able to calm her down, and she was afraid of getting stung.
Was it worth it? No.

"A Chant for the Nymph" is really beautiful, no question about it.
It's un-sticky-sweet, floral-elegant and quiet, with a barely perceptible vibe (unless you really hold your nose right up to the spray-on point, in which case you might feel slain and it almost smells like white-flowering).
In the hair he smells at least with me funnily woody(er) and a little more tart.
At the durability there is nothing to complain about, it is in the upper range (>= 7h).
However, he reminds again and again to "Vert Malachite" and? loses this battle hands down, because he lacks the charisma, a little more development (or even more vanilla) would be interesting and ... it doesn't inspire. Neither to sing, nor to write a witty review. At most, to perform an anti-Maikäfer chase dance.
If it weren't for the price, I'd consider this a fragrance for the office, for during the week, for those non-special occasions like shopping, taking a Sunday stroll. Or so

Looking for a soda in Romania can take up to an hour. That's what happened after 4ajbukoshka crossed the border there for the first time. And also several times afterwards.
Everything here is so colorful. There's not just one kind of Fanta, there are at least five: Grape, tangerine, elderberry and many more, not yet counted all the other brands and bottles with either 1, 2.5 or even gladly 5 liters.
The decision is difficult.
"Why choose when you can have them all?" - 4ajbukoshka and Nathalie Lorson. Two dopes - one thought.
Peach shampoo? Scented beads for the washing machine? Put it in the shopping cart!
Kiwi: Put it in the shopping cart!
Watermelon: put it in the... oh, you know.
In the end, the shopping cart is full, and a cheerful 4ajbukoshka first conducts an inventory analysis in her new, temporary home:

Hello, sour something. This tart something, some citrus spritzer that I don't miss after it's gone, is accompanied by kiwi and melon and lasts a few minutes.
Kiwi is present from the start, pantry shopping says hello.
In passing, a breath of peach shampoo blows by again and again, it smells well-groomed.
After one to two hours, it is then also with the development over and one has decided on a variety of soda: Tuttifrutti with kiwi and watermelon in excess.
After eight liters of soda has 4ajbukoshka then the belly full of fruit, a little sugar and especially ascorbic acid. Wow. That lasted a long time (this time without irony, because Verfressovna 4ajbukoshka's purchases often do not even make it home).

Would I buy it again? No. I miss the twist, the drama, maybe some fluffy clean musk, cotton candy clouds or else more wood, more spice, gladly as a crowning finish.... Hmph.
Therefore, I do it in one of my experiments like Prinzessa:
As a base serves me Cuir Béluga, after a few minutes I spray on L'Impératrice, because Cuir Béluga smells imperial, so that could fit. And it fits, harmonizes, gives me the transformation I was hoping for from the base of L'Impératrice. For layering, however, "my darling" (please pronounce it in Gollum's intonation) would be too bad for me in the long run

I never wanted to grow up
I always put up a fight
Beautiful as a jewel on the outside
And yet they put me in the corner
Dragged me to royal and imperial balls
Puffed up my childish ego with a bow tie and suit
But quite obviously, I have remained a five-year-old child
Who wants to be happy and carefree in spring and summer
Only then
when I am no longer light as a feather and can concentrate
Will I be taken on the several hours' excursions on the high seas
So long I'll whistle as if I've done nothing
Disappear unnoticed
To play with the other kids in the sandbox
Mama looks sour, as if she had bitten into a lemon
She's just as beautiful as I am
For the apple doesn't fall far from the tree
I throw everything I can find on the beach at her
Missed, but I hit her anyway - my way
That's what she gets for bringing the little heir to the throne into the house herself!

--------
Yes, that's what you get.
No one is forcing you to read my posts, let alone invest your money in tepid breezes. After all, those breezes smell noble, I'll give them that.
Oh, the Peter Maffay earworm? You're welcome! Again and again very gladly. For mind-bleaching, I recommend something stronger. Vodka perhaps

"Sometimes at night I look at the stars
And I see your face before me
It's reflected so beautifully in the Elbe
Though I know you're not here"
[4ajbukoshka sits] at the harbor all alone in the cold
Even though [she almost freezes to death]
As if half of [her] heart is missing
What [she] has left is a piece of paper." (1)
Wrapped in (reusable beeswax) paper: Tangerines, clementines? Those orange crossed mini oranges just now. Whatever it was...
A baby beaver scurries by, having hoped to find something edible here. With cute beady eyes, the fluffy-lovely thing scans the surroundings to disappear unnoticed. So that's what it should have come all the way out of the burrow for, hmph. In vain, 4ajbukoshka waits for mama beaver to follow, but is secretly glad not to have been attacked by an animal.
Today was her day off after all, a special day, this one in 365: 4ajbukoshka's birthday.
Here's to an Earl Grey! This one is cold, colder than the wind in Hamburg, but 4ajbukoshka is warmed from the inside. Jasmine sits down with her. Together they sit there and keep silent, if they couldn't find the right words. It is not always words that are needed when your best friend and supporter hugs you tightly, so tightly that almost all the air escapes from 4ajbukoshka. But that's what she needs right now, to come back to herself. Jasmine smells ever so slightly vanilla, so for 4ajbukoshka: like "home," wherever that place may be.
"For us, it's goodbye
and pray for a reunion
[...] Tears fall like drizzle" (1)
After the warm shower, it is already late at night and dark, 4ajbukoshka wraps herself in her freshly laundered blankets and looks out her window:
"I don't know if you hear me when I say something
Whether you see me under the radar
Are you really here when I'm not sleeping?
I can't feel it even though [everyone says it]!" (1)

"The sky's the fucking limit
Give me something that never ends!" (2)
Give me hope: a shooting star in the sky above my window. Glittering water of the Elbe - even if it's just my reclexion.

________________________
(1): Bozza - Elbe (2020)
(2): Sido & Samra - Empty Hands (2021)

4ajbukisja was a belly dancer.
And she was beautiful, the most beautiful young woman in her home village, it was later to be said.
Even when she had her hair cut tomboyishly short at the nape of her neck to a few millimeters and growing longer towards the top (up to three centimeters), and she was of slender stature, one perceived her femininity from a few meters away. Today, twenty years later, one would perhaps take note of her appearance without any emotion.
Perhaps - for she is no more.
She, whose appearance left no one cold: her belly dance in the kindergarten of 4ajbukoshka, who is a little ashamed of her, but then let herself be carried away.
4ajbukisja is wrapped in colorful scarves, with which she plays around and decorates a bikini of Verena. Her belly undulates and makes wacky movements in all directions. She can, it seems, direct her hips and belly with her hands and has bones made of rubber.
The song for the performance, Tarkan's "Şımarık," 4ajbukoshka will repress for a long time, storing it in the back of her mind as "Mwah mwah" and muttering "Tshinga dadinga tshickahaha..." when someone asks, couldn't be more Occidental. And yet, it's actually Turkish.
A hint of vanilla blows around 4ajbukisja as soon as their dance kicks in - leaving the audience as the last audience member, after a thunderous applause.

This performance was to be one of the last times 4ajbukoshka encountered her:
this non-classic for her, but regardless, exceedingly beautiful woman with the wavy black hair, the prominent, perfectly symmetrical eyebrows, and the subtle tan that her moles most likely still lend her.
She looks oriental - and yet she's not.
Actually, most of the time she tries her hardest to be as German as possible (if it wasn't for 4ajbukoshka's multilingual upbringing).
Her temper she can not always hide and so you often bite on granite or get the full broadside pepper in the face. A sweet (tangerine), she is not. She is a cheeky little fruit who uses her sweetness only sparingly: enough to turn men's heads, but not enough not to be taken seriously by everyone, women and men alike.
Next to her, the most radiant orchid looks pale, and even the fresh bouquets of flowers that 4ajbukoshka or many a suitor as well as many a suitor shyly hands her cannot drown her out.
She with vanilla skin and lips like rosewood.
4ajbukisja: a piece of the Orient in the Occident. One. Meter. Fifty-six. Full load of power.
Somehow she seems out of place wherever she goes: in the Orient she is Occident, in the Occident Orient. At home foreign.
She may give the appearance of calm and strength. What it is like inside, no one will ever know.

Isn't it usually the case that you take things for granted and that only changes when they are no more?
The monthly appearance of this one woman who is no more.
She had the evil eye, but a kind heart, somewhere beneath what you saw, smelled, heard.
And all that will remain in the future is the memory and the information "has been discontinued".