I should have thought first about the way that I use unscented laundry detergent, clean with unscented chemicals, and use unscented shampoo and deodorant. My life isn't completely scentless: I use clove-cinnamon toothpaste, and some nice mild soaps with lovely scents from the farmer's market, but the only chemicals I tend to wear are splashes of simple green or bleach when mopping the floors or cleaning the bathroom, engine oil and avgas from the plane, and a little MPro from cleaning guns. I hold my breath when I have to enter the laundry detergent aisle in the grocery store, and I'll only touch the National Geographic magazines in waiting rooms, because the others try to punch me in the olfactory nerves with perfume samples.
The two samples I had:
The Riding crop scent (like all of ours, in our somewhat humble opinion) is right on the barrelhead. That wonderful worn leather aroma. This was a naughty name and we couldn't resist. Heck, who knows what mischief you can get into with this one.
My review: Sprayed on my wrist from the little spray bottle - sneeze. Inhale, sneeze. Flee bedroom. Sneeze. Gather up stuff for work, moving quickly, being punched in the nose with the sharp smell of leather freshly unrolled in the craft goods tent. Breathing shallowly, get in car. Sneeze. Roll down windows. Drive to work with windows down, occasionally blowing my nose.
Once arriving at work, find it's diminished enough that I just faintly smell of leather. Wonder if it's just because my raw-feeling nose is too deadened to notice. Fortunately, I don't have to interact with people for the first half hour. Go wash my hands halfway up to the elbows. Still smell traces of leather until well after lunch, then a lingering sharp smell until I got home to shower.
Redhead in Bed
Shake together gin, lemon juice, syrup, and ice. Strain into martini glass over strawberries. Garnish with strawberry and enjoy!
My review: Sprayed on my wrist from the little spray bottle. Sneeze violently. Inhale, sneeze. Flee bedroom. Sneeze. Gather up stuff for work, moving quickly, being smothered by the sickly smell of strawberries. Breathing shallowly, get in car. Sneeze. Roll down windows. Drive to work with windows down. Try to drink tea, gag at the taste of strawberries on my tongue as I inhale, like trying to drink a tea with rose petals that's sat so long it's akin to paint thinner. Only with strawberries instead of roses.
Get to work late from accident slowing traffic, no time to wash off wrist for the first two hours. Find myself completely uninterested in eating lunch, as my eyes feel sore and my nose and throat feels raw.
...Two points does not a comprehensive test make, but I think I'm going to wistfully read LabRat's descriptions instead of ordering any "melancholy death of Nicholas Tesla", no matter how wonderful it sounds.
Yeah, Labrat's definitely a tougher lady than I am. So is any woman who can dose themselves repeatedly to determine what scent they like. You ladies win. I'll be out at my hangar, where I have this nice respirator for working around smelly stuff, a kindle full of books, a plane, a gun, some nice new Cruxshadows music, and the sad realization that I don't think my lungs would be up to going clubbing anymore, even if I did drop enough weight to look good in clubbing gear.