It’s getting obscene — that is, the amount of perfume I have. Not only will I never be able to wear it all in my lifetime, the fragrances I truly enjoy are getting lost in the crowd. The other day I stumbled over a bottle of Ormonde Woman and stared at it as if I’d never seen it before. I love Ormonde Woman! But I’d forgotten it was even an option for me.
This is craziness. After all, I’m ruthless about pruning unflattering dresses from my closet. I won’t stand for a coffee mug that is just okay to drink from each morning. If a pillowcase’s texture against my cheek isn’t pure soft cotton, off it goes to Goodwill. So, why do I have so much perfume I consider “nice” or “kind of interesting” or “fine”…
