Lauren smells like a French whorehouse today, even after last night's shower. Well, more accurately, she smells like the Magic Whorehouse at Disneyland, since much of the perfume that Tabitha doused her in yesterday at her friend Gracie's house carried the Hannah Montana seal of approval. It's apparently a standard part of the inevitable fashion show that Lauren, Tabitha and Gracie always put on, and that's just the price of girls having fun. Just wait until they're older, when they add margaritas and dark chocolate to the mix.
It's fall, and there are all sorts of interesting smells in the air. Our neighbor Jerry, a tree-trimmer, has stocked up his winter woodpile with new oak, giving the neighborhood a particular winey sort of smell that I can't decide if I like or not. The house still smells a bit of the squash we had for dinner last night. And when it gets cold in the evenings, the cats velcro themselves to our bodies and smell like slowly warming fur.
Burning leaves and apple cider, though - that's what fall smells like to me. You don't get too many piles of burning leaves anymore, since they require permits now, but every once in a while the air will hang with that delicious scent. The girls have now adopted my line that it's not fall without apple cider - rich, dark brown and heavy. We're out now - I'll have to go get more.
Next time the girls go visit Grace, I'm going to replace all the perfume with apple cider.