Caron - Tabac Blond (late 70s/early 80s)

This is a perfume that carries such expectations that you need a good, Hoovering influence to put you on level ground again.

HUSBAND: It smells like a bridge club.

HUSBAND: It smells like a bunch of bluehairs playing canasta.

HUSBAND: It smells like old women playing pinochle.

HUSBAND: It smells like Febreeze on a casino carpet.

What I say: This is a monstrously uncompromising fragrance. For me, the girl-on-whom-any-oriental-turns-to-smoke, this throttled me to the ground, rolled me into an open grave, and bashed me on the head with a spade. Repeatedly. I had flashbacks of Berdoues' Tabac - roaring, hellish, spot-on cigarette smoke sealing up all the cracks in the apartment while I cower and cry.

Perfect example of fragrance wearing me.

Perfect example of hag-ridden kelpy casualty.

Bitter, black black, claw-marks.

Amber filth.

This is the most unwholesome thing I have ever smelled. All aspects bodily are magnified.

I would like an oxygen mask and a six-hour-long bath, please.

These are my first immediate thoughts.

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EDIT: Husband: You smell like a loose lush.
Me: Oh, do I smell like I have had many men without washing in between?
Husband: No, you just smell like cigarettes and booze.
Me: Well then, this fragrance has SUCCEEDED!

*confetti falls from ceiling upon an unleashed horde of 20s garconnes rubbing shoulders with men in raccoon coats and brilliantine*