Flint and Steel

                      



Flint and Steel 


As aesthetically pleasing merchandise displays go, I would have to say that my favorite luxury soap boutique is on the minimalist spectrum. Its glass doors open to clean white walls  adorned with matching shallow shelves offering highly-fragranced colorful soaps lined up in neat rows with custom-printed label bands on pastel scrapbook papers. The aromatic allure is a modern form of witchcraft. 


Marbleized and solid colored hand-sliced bars promise relaxing or invigorating lathers of sensual transport to other worlds where worries and troubles are vaporized into steamy swirls. 


So many choices: Mystic Quest (rumored to contain dragon’s blood), Oatmeal Honey, Vegan Castile, Morning Citrus, Cool River, Mountain Mist, Lavender Fields, Purple Haze, and the seasonal scents.


I can resist all these, though. I amble, spellbound, over to the men’s shelf and select a bar of Flint and Steel as my husband’s Valentine’s Day gift. I put it to my nose, close my eyes, inhale deeply, and smile. The label doesn’t reveal my suspicions, but I figured out its secret ingredient a long time ago. 


Pheromones. 

2 Replies to “Flint and Steel”

  1. Oh, my Kim. What a beautiful, sensual journey this small post is. So many poetic phrases and images. I am there walking in this beautiful shop when I read your words, like: “worlds where worries and troubles are vaporized into steamy swirls” Beautiful. I'm glad you get to bring home the love potion. Enjoy!

    Like

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