I had a fancy dinner to go to after work the other week, and, true to my, uh, "frugal" nature, I stopped at Nordstrom on my way over to take advantage of the testers in the makeup area. I also swung through the adjacent fragrance department to see if there was anything more suitable for an evening out and decided to try Annick Goutal's Mandragore:

I found myself sniffing my arm surreptitiously throughout the evening, and decided to head over to the Perfume House to check it out. After a brief flirtation with Caron Sacré – um, hello powdery old lady! – and a break to have lunch and do some window shopping, I stuck with the Mandragore. I would have preferred the smaller 1.7 oz size, but they only had the 3.4 oz and, well, I'd rather spend a little more at a local shop to make sure they're still around the next time I'm in the mood for a perfume orgy. Also, I got the more masculine version of the bottle, so maybe I can convince Michael to wear it.

I feel like I smell more, well, adult. Not in a porny way, but more grown up.
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