Daily Prompt: Smell You Later

The writing prompt today was as follows:

Humans have very strong scent memory. Tell us about a smell that transports you.

My sister and I getting ready for a dance recital in the 80s

My sister and I getting ready for a dance recital in the 80s

Think 1980-something, in the fall and early winter.
Teenage girls, donning Gloria Vanderbilt, Sergio Valente or Sasson jeans and fuzzy sweaters, and coating soft, supple, unspoiled skin with Merle Norman makeup.

The bathroom mirror is shared to capacity, each girl straining to get the best view. Makeup stains, and hair filled brushes line the formica countertop along with curlers and Aqua net hairspray. Speaking of hair, it had been determined by those who determine all trends that as for hair; the bigger the better.

Thus, the girls bent upside down, with luscious locks falling all topsy-turvy, and hairspray creating a fog so thick, we were dangerously close to needing a lighthouse. But coat it we would, ensuring that it last through Endless Love and Keep On Loving You and Celebration and whatever else our cassette tapes held.

Glossy lips shimmering, Bette Davis eyes complete, gaudy earrings hanging, charm necklaces bulging with charms, which continually caught in the sweaters, and finally everyone is ready.

It is at last time for the last touch, the scent. Our favorites at the time were Cinnabar and Ciara. It was always one or the other. I have never been able to smell Cinnabar without it bringing me back to those carefree, teenage dating days.

My mom, my sister and I and many of our friends wore it. It’s funny how a scent can transport you to a special time and place filled with such delightful memories.

Memories as sweet as the scent of Cinnabar.

No to stripes and plaid; together that is

English: capri pants 1960. Deutsch: Caprihose ...

English: capri pants 1960. Deutsch: Caprihose von 1960. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Have I ever said I love my forties!  Oh, I have?  Many times?  Well, excuse me for repeating myself.  I think repeating myself is coming right around the corner too so I might has well have a little practice.

I cannot help but ponder all the things that used to vex me daily.  Mostly about how I was perceived and how I looked.  It’s always been the little things that get me.  I would call myself a perfectionist in some areas, but then not at all in others.  And, I’m not over all of my little idiosyncrasies by any means, but I find myself happier and more at peace with myself every day.  Oh, the absurdities I’ve allowed to plague me!

Just today, I was telling a friend how that I’ve always had to match, even with sleepwear.  I’m not one of those people who can run around the house with stripes and plaid on.  Now, I’m not saying this is the way to be, but it is what it is at this point.  In high school, when the Gloria Vanderbilt, Jordache and Sasson (I am really dating myself here) jeans were in style, my shirts had to match the thread on the jeans.  I have harassed girlfriends when they wore white shoes in the winter; which is not a fashion faux pas anymore, by the way.  The fact that my toenail polished is chipped has often caused me to wear closed toed shoes in the heat of a blistering Florida summer.

Like I keep saying though, things they are a changing.  This morning I had on a below the knee nightshirt and this FL girl was cold in this frigid 53 degree weather.  Let’s take a moment until the laughter from our northern friends dies down.  So, I decided to add a pair of sweats, but all I could find was Capri length.  Then I realized my feet were the coldest thing on my body so I was strolling by my daughter’s room and caught a glimpse of her ankle high leopard print slipper/booties.  I’m really not sure what they are.  She wears them out of the house; I would not.  I slipped them on.

So, I walk by the mirror and had to laugh.  I looked ridiculous.  But no one knew (until now of course).  This admission, sharing it with all of you is success in itself as far as I’m concerned.  Don’t get me wrong, if someone would have knocked on my door, a mad dash for the closet would have ensued.

Maybe I will end up being one of those little old ladies with a mismatched outfit and lipstick in the wrong shade feathering into the creases around her wrinkled old lips, and a winter shoe with a summer outfit.  But, you know what?  Who cares, as long as I’m happy? J

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