A reader's story. A perfume that sat on the dresser for six years waiting for an occasion special enough, and the drizzly Tuesday in October that finally was.
Our last couple of perfume stories got more love than we expected. A few of you even wrote in wanting to share your own. Please do. We read every one.
In the meantime, here's another.
The perfume sat on my dresser for six years. My daughter Jess gave it to me, and I was saving it for a special occasion. None ever seemed special enough.
There were chances. My niece's wedding was in July, and I wasn't wasting it on a sweltering marquee. My birthday party came round every year, so that hardly counted.
Saving things for best runs in the family. My mother kept the good plates for visitors who never came. When she passed, there was a camel coat in her wardrobe with the tags still on. It never got its occasion either.
Then one drizzly Tuesday in October, for no reason at all, I opened it. Two dabs on my wrist, one on my neck, and I took the bins out in my dressing gown and wellies.
It was warm and slightly sweet, like a room where someone has just lit the fire. Dave next door said morning and didn't notice a thing. But all day, over the crossword and in the queue at Tesco, I kept catching the scent on my wrist. It wasn't for anyone else. It was for me.
That evening I rang Jess.
‘I finally opened your perfume.’
‘Mum, that was six years ago. What was the occasion?’
I thought of the wedding, the birthdays and the coat with the tags still on.
‘Tuesday,’ I said.
I wear it most days now. Bin day has never smelled better.
What are you saving yours for?