The Stinky Truth About Fragrance

The Stinky Truth About Fragrance

By: Lisa Beres

Mrs. Beasley. That was my teacher’s name. Actually, I think that was the name of a “Family Affair” TV sitcom-inspired Mattel doll that talked when you pulled a string. A quick search on eBay and it becomes clear this doll, clad with a wise smile and square black-rimmed glasses could easily pose as a teacher. But, since my kindergarten teacher’s actual name is stuffed somewhere deep in my five-year-old memory, let’s just go with Beasley. Unlike the doll, my Mrs. Beasley was bright, vivacious and smelled divine.

My freshly divorced, single mom-of-three was working full time and struggling to make ends meet, so spending my days in a Boston suburb with Mrs. Beasley was a welcome escape—that and kissing my tot-of-a-boyfriend, Johnathan, at the top of the indoor treehouse, but I digress.

I can’t remember exactly what I loved about Mrs. Beasley, but apparently, it was enough to steal. No, not your European gypsy child-decoy kind of theft, more of an adolescent brain that assumed pocketing perfume bottles from her mother’s dresser and regifting them to Mrs. Beasley wasn’t just acceptable, but revered. My tiny fingers and little heart certainly meant well and Mrs. Beasley was none the wiser. Hence, my pirating-perfume presents continued while Mrs. Beasley filled the classroom with aromatic aromas, until parent-teacher night that is. You may think you know how the rest of the story goes.

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