Wednesday, September 3, 2008
The same old same old
According to some statistics I read somewhere (and I don't know where, so don't press me), women have a greater need for variety in their meals. When I read that (somewhere), I thought "Oh no, not another piece of proof that's I'm atypical!"
I love to eat and I love variety. But, if it were up to me (and it is, generally), I'd eat the same thing for every meal until I tired of it. Right now I've been practically living on yoghurt and granola. Before that, it was Japanese noodles with egg and tofu. When I stayed at the Kripalu Center for a month, I was teased for eating brown rice at every meal. That's right; breakfast, lunch and dinner. Most Japanese people eat rice at every meal, just as many Americans eat bread with every meal, so what's the big deal?
When I was a kid, my father ate the same breakfast and lunch for as long as I can remember. For breakfast, he had one fried egg with a piece of toast. When he was done with that, he had a cup of instant coffee with cream and three sugars or an entire packet of Sweet and Low and a small piece of Entenmann's brownies. For lunch, he ate a muenster cheese on rye sandwich, with lettuce tomato and mayonnaise, followed by two Vienna Fingers cookies. The only times he ever wavered were when he ate what someone else had cooked.
I had forgotten why I started this post and put it in my drafts folder. Then I caught a whiff of the Shalimar Light I put on this morning and realized what my intent was. I'm starting to wonder if I am having serious memory problems, but that's a whole 'nother story. . .
I seem to like a steady diet of everything. I wear pretty much the same thing every day - jeans and a baggy linen shirt or sweater. And in spite of having approximately 100 perfume samples, I have been pretty much wearing Serge Luten's Chergui for at least a month. I have had to force myself to wear anything else. Now that I've put a Shoutbox on this blog, I will endeavor to try more of my collection (most of which has barely been sniffed, never mind worn).
Today, I'm wearing Shalimar Light. My reaction to it, both today and the first time I tried it, is "it's nice". That's not much of a compliment. It is indeed nice, nice in that it neither jars nor challenges ones' senses. It smells like "perfume" (though my first reaction to it is that it smelled more like a traditional cologne with its citrus opening). I must admit to never having tried Shalimar, which is an oversight in someone who's interested in perfume.
In spite of wanting to spray on some Chergui, I won't. Though I find Shalimar Light rather boring, at least I can wear it (in other words, it doesn't make me sick and I'm not going to scrub it off). I've applied such a small amount that I'll need more by lunchtime. Perhaps then, I'll try something else.
Image Note: I was surprised to discover this Shalimar ad is from 1975. Whatever the year, I doubt, no matter what version of Shalimar I may be wearing, that there's no possibility of my feeling transported into the dream of this ad. Maybe that has something to do with how I'm dressed at this moment. What am I wearing? Brace yourselves: One striped sock. One polka dotted sock. Orange drawstring pants with a paisley design. A 1920's English white nightshirt covered (mostly) by a huge olive green sweater. And no, I'm not going out dressed like this. I'm not that crazy.