Today I dabbed my very last hoarded droplets of Angel onto my wrists. Hoarded? I can almost hear you say. But I thought you HATED that stuff.
True, an overzealous spray in Sephora nearly biased against me this bizarre gourmand for life. But that was five years ago. I've changed my mind on many things in that time. Cassis -- once my sworn enemy -- is now not even my frenemy, but my friend. I've smelled so many lousy Angel wannabes at Target or Kohls that the original on which they're based -- tart fruit layered over a patchouli-caramel-chocolate accord once deemed by me The Worst -- is actually really Some Kind of Wonderful. Maybe it's grown on me. Or maybe I've learned just how much Angel is enough (the tiniest, TINIEST dab; the barest swipe of the sample vial wand).
The point is this: I'm sad enough to see Angel go to want it to return-- even if I have to buy it outright.
I've come a long way, baby.