Who? Moi?

Ever since I bought some Jo Malone perfume, I've been caught smelling myself more than once. Yes, this is just as embarrassing as it sounds. But it's so funny, because I'm allergic and the majority of perfumes give me a headache, wearing one that doesn't is a totally novel experience.

Sooo, it means more often than not, I've got my nose hunkered down to my chest sniffing myself. Because it smells so good and I can't believe that it's me that smells that way. It's a total boost, one that I needed desperately as I'm having a kind of bad disease week.

As much as I enjoy being a band widow, there are parts of being left alone so much that are kind of hard. For example, when my RRHB got back from tour and saw me for the first time, he said he "recoiled in horror." Honestly, those were the words he used. He backtracked and said it was because he hadn't seen how puffy I was from the new dose of prednisone, but still: Recoiled. In. Horror.

Doesn't do a lot for a tenuous ego that's strapped to the edges of sanity for the most part these days. So anything that I can do to feel kind of even remotely attractive, be it perfume, or a new haircut, or new shoes, I'm kind of indulging myself. Well, I'll admit it, I'm over-indulging, but as of May 9th (when I see the super-fancy disease doctor again), I'm back on new drugs for the disease, which will, in turn, make me feel like complete crap all over again, I'm taking the good where I can grab it.

Now, if I can only stop smelling myself in public...