Pretty

When I was in college, I sat across from a girl in one of my feminist theory classes who had once been a cover model for the reader-produced issue of Sassy magazine.* I am embarrassed to admit, I could not stop looking at her. She was just. so. pretty. I couldn’t help it.



L’Artisan’s Fleur d’Oranger 2005 is that girl. It’s pretty. What can I say? The type of pretty that makes you speechless.

There’s another girl in that class, though. (And actually, in real life there were a few of them. Okay. I admit. The class was chock-full of really hot women. Of course it was. It was college. It was a feminist theory class. You do the math.)

Anyway, to continue with the analogy, this other girl is not airbrushed. She’s a little more rugged around the edges. She’s a little older. And this girl, the more experienced one, when she walks into the room, you pretty much forget about the pretty girl, and this other one is the girl you want to go to bed with. She’s got more depth, she’s quirkier, and she’s someone you can really hold a conversation with.

So ’05 is an early, breezy spring-meets-summer day. And ’07 is that same day but on a nighttime prowl. I would have been perfectly in love with ’05 if I’d never known ’07 existed. ’07 is the homewrecker. She’s teases you away from your girl-next-door wife.

* That’s not her, by the way. Of course. As if I even had to say it.