Miracle, Lancôme - Uma Thurman HQ
I put a spell on you: Magie Noire, by Lancome
I praise from a territory where the curses, spells, demons, white magic and mythologies of all volunteers are fitting much a part of living unexciting wake up to go to the line or turn on the TV to agitation disturbing Orwellian politicians spitting familiar obscenity various kinds. In the hinterland, where hail is not usual "hello" or "afternoon in textiles," but "God help us commandeer!" Ensorcellment Swart is somehow still valid floating below the clouds by a hair above the establishment.We are a state where there is not enough wood for everyone on tape, or rather undemanding matches and incense to water to take care of all our pre-Christian fantasies unstable. We see ugly cats in every corner of ill omens and for each decrease pension b. Before you hire someone for the analogue free to inform and to wish him happy more appropriate to count the daisies down, we need to handle the sparse sprinkle the guy in the face of disaster with wine (not too much, it would be the use?...
Your Invisible Identity
When I was a dab broad, my ma’s tipsy heels, pearls, and perfume captivated me. As a housekeeper, I latched on to Mom’s propensity for heels and have carried on the stiletto attraction, but try as I might, pearls and Chanel No. 5—the being of my mom—were never in actuality me.
But oh, how that balm infused my memories…there was (and is) nothing like the redolent fragrance of Chanel No. 5 on Mom. I can’t ever commemorate another bouquet on her, and while she mixes it up a barely more today, back then, it was all No. 5. Of progress, back then, there weren’t a gazillion fragrances on the exchange either. I about when Mom would give me a hug, mainly on a Sunday when she’d gotten dolled up for church, and her Chanel No. 5 would linger in my mane or on my clothes extensive after she’d communistic the reside. That scent resonated with her, adulterated with her chemistry, and became a hypnotic principle that, for me, became synonymous with honey, Mom, and the elements of womanly asset. Even way back then I realized the power of perfume. It is the coating on the piece; that ubiquitous boudoir tableland accessory is the last—but most material—detail of a lady’s on the sly ministrations. No one can see it, but it is a meaningful marker of particular mode.
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