Upon my dressing table are many mysterious wee onion-shaped bottles containing a scent for each of my moods because the telly told me that there is a scent for every mood and it often has something to do with Venice or Paris. I believed the telly but didn’t want to smell like an ancient canal or an enormous outdoor pissoire-au-lait so I set about creating my own perfumes to embody, or ennose at least, the 873 scientifically described emotions of a manic-depressive housewife (only 8 of which are classified as “Any Fun At All”).
I’ve only managed to make 7 at the moment but have recruited the girls to help me in the collection of ingredients. They wear their faerie costumes and I mostly wear a black pointy hat and a false green nose although the Problem Husband has pointed out I might want to wear some other clothes too. He is a very clever man and quite right. What a stinging nettle can do to an unprotected bum isn’t funny at all. In fact Mr. Bush is said to be looking into it as a means of the detainee “coercion” he has just allowed into law in what has to be the greatest moral bound backwards of his most un-American administration. But this is not a political blog so I’ll leave that to others. On with the sniffs then.
Eau # 1 intended for the periods of elevated libido that often plague/please the bipolar person’s manic or hypomanic episode. I described it over at foot Eater’s before but here it is for those who may have missed the recipe:
It is made out of the mashed-up heads of the rare blue dusk-moth which can only be found upon Michaelmas Eve in a particular wild cabbage copse on the Isle of Lewis, when they come out to mate. They are leapt upon immediately by maidens, pure-of-heart (they have to sit a tricky multiple-choice test first to ensure purity) in the manner of people clutching at fivers in that wind-cubicle on a whacky Noel Edmonds variety show).
The heads and antennae are boiled for several hours with the tears of lovers, stinging-nettle syrup and the juice of one lime, and the resultant liquor is pumped by dialysis through Mr. Alan Rickman. Liquid is collected 2 hours later from Mr. Rickman dressed as the Sheriff of Nottingham who’s been reading saucy magazines throughout. The perfume is complete now, with the precious filtrate of Rickman blood, and will vary from batch to batch according to how many oysters he’s been eating. It’s heady stuff indeed. I call it “Eau My!”
Eau # 2 is meant to be worn on those dysphoric days/weeks where agitation and irritability has you unable to sit still and the nocturnal bipolar perfume-wearer might find his or herself climbing the stairs or cleaning cupboards or pacing the house all night long to keep the feeling of physically needing to crawl out of his/her skin.
Step 1: Take some more stinging nettles and the liquefied sound of nails on a blackboard (available at all good Walmarts). Simmer slowly for a week with a Britney Spears’ “Oops I did it Again!” CD and a 5-molar solution of hydrochloric acid (aq).
Step 2: Rub this solution under your eyelids, all over your skin and swallow the remainder with 17 whole butterflies. Collect the tears, skin seepage and vomited bile from this process.
Step 3: Arrange to sit a driving test and your university finals on the same day as having a root canal. Collect resultant sweat.
Step 4. Mix the products of steps 2 and 3 with Venetian canal water and voila! The perfect scent to reflect your current reality! It is called “Eauuuuaaaaagggghhh!” and it stinks.
Eau # 3. Or “Eau de Catatonia”: Don’t shower for 2 weeks and collect the odor in sheeps stomachs which have been marinating in hospital grade disinfectant for untold years. You need no other scent. Well, you do (you really do) but this product will indeed reflect your mood. There are many variations possible with this “base” falling loosely under the product-line “L’eau”.
Eau # 4 or “Eau to Joy!” Take the leap of a gambolling lamb, the luck of a gambling Irishman and the love of a lassie for her laddie. Capture the scent of these somehow (technique not yet perfected despite many field-trips to Las Vegas and A Farm) and mix with fresh, green grass, the comforting dust of ancient books and the bonhomie of a night out with your best friends (this bonhomie might well have some beer in it; it might not; it might be gin).
Eau # 5 or “Eau d’ear”: Take the tears your husband/wife will shed after he sees the credit-card bill for your multiple corner-shelving and 1950’s nylon petticoat purchases from ebay. Take your own eventual incredulity and dismay at the arrival of many packages of what seemed like great ideas/bargains at the time.
Add the metallic flavour you get in your mouth when you narrowly avoid a road accident and ferment in sherry casks for several years, to deepen. Just before the final distillation, add the sweet and salt flavour of ice-cream licked from your arm on a hot day and Essence of Bafflement (Jean-Claude Gaultier has bulk-buying rates on cases of this).
I do have a few other completed eaus (eaux?) but I feel this has gone on long past the point at which people will have stopped reading. I will add this to my growing list of uncompleted blog stories which will be completed at some point but not today. Today I have to gather a pigeon sneeze, a Hells Angel’s whisker and the somnolent wheeze of an asthmatic transvestite professor of marmalade. I will use these in the creation of my newest eaupus (hahahahahahahahem): “S’Eau Surreal.” In the television advert for this perfume, its name will be whispered by Marge Simpson in a fading echoey way as if she were in a deep blue cave whispering out to a swirly, yellow world.
My question: What perfume or smell do you like the bestest?
(Addendum: It’s night-time now and I’ve just re-read what I posted today. It all sounds a bit self-indulgent and woe-is-me-ey. I’m sorry folks! I just bashed it out because I thought it tied in neatly with the recent Stephen Fry bipolar stuff over at Pat’s (Past Imperfect) and the perfume stuff over at Foot Eaters. I didn’t realise it was coming out quite like that. I thought I’d made the tone lighter than the result. Don’t let me scare you away! Really, I’m really the most naturally optimistic and cheery bipolar person you may ever meet! When I started this blog, a small part of the idea was to bash out into the void some of the bipolar stuff if I felt like it. In the event I haven’t really felt like it. It bores me, quite frankly. I’ll shut up now in case it starts boring you lot. I guess I meant to say sorry if the change in tone bit seems too abrupt. Normal service will be resumed in the comment box (Don’t comment on this last bit in itallics. Just tell me how you all smell and what smells you like – See! I aren’t in the least bit scary or wierd am I?)