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What Fresh Hell is This?

What Fresh Hell is This?

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Ugh. This day. This day could not make Mallory roll her eyes harder if it tried, and at this point, she’s pretty certain it’s trying. She makes herself her second (maybe fifth, actually, but who’s really counting?) strong martini and collapses back onto her favorite overstuffed armchair, sloshing a bit onto the floor. It’s fine; one of the maids will be along at some point to clean it up. But before she can, Mallory’s assistant, Stacy, walks into the room. 

“Uh, so did I hear correctly that our company is now going to be boycotted in Europe because you pissed off the French ambassador at lunch today?” Mallory rolls her eyes for the 100th time today. “Yes, you did hear that correctly. Francois wore the stupidest hat I’ve ever seen and didn’t take it off during the meal. So I told him he was a fussy snail with more money than style and now he’s mad at me. Yes, he’s probably going to boycott the company, but it won’t be for long.” 

“But he’s your ex-husband. And he co-founded the company with you. Why would you say that?” Stacy asked, clearly not getting the point.

“Well then he should know better than to wear a stupid hat to a business lunch with me, shouldn’t he? This is entirely his fault. Although it does mean we’ll have to reframe our European business for a while. He has a loud, angry mouth that matches his taste in accessories. It takes a lot of money to look that cheap, too, and I don’t feel bad for being honest with him. Someone needed to tell him the truth,” Mallory said, sloshing back the rest of the martini. 

“Ah, so that must be martini… five, is my guess?” says Stacy, snatching the glass from Mallory’s hand. “What else happened today?”

Mallory gave her best dramatic sigh. “Oh yes. It was just the most obnoxious day.”

Stacy half-smiled. “You said the same thing yesterday.”

Mallory scoffed. “I meant it then, and I mean it now! The heel broke off of my favorite pair of Louboutins this morning on my way to my breakfast meeting; I hobbled into the restaurant and looked like a bum in front of the whole place AND our potential new client, whom I haven’t heard from since, by the way. George, my driver, abandoned me at the restaurant because his wife was in labor, or some other excuse. She’s been pregnant for, like, nine months, which seems excessive. Then I had to get a cab back here, like a commoner, and I was nearly run over by some asshole in a Nissan while I tried to hail a cab. A Nissan! And I had to change my shoes and my whole outfit, obviously. I had to take another cab to meet Francois for lunch, and this one smelled like a dog threw up in it, then ate that throw up, then expelled it again in the backseat. Then that stupid hat showed up, along with the rest of my ex-husband. I’m telling you, I could barely eat at the sight of both of them; I had to keep the food down, so, whoops, my words came out. Plus, somehow, the wrong contract documents were in my briefcase. Thankfully we didn’t even get that far because he stormed out and threatened ruin for the business, but I’m not concerned. If he boycotted me for every time we had a disagreement, we would have lost the firm before it started.”

Mallory stopped to sigh and attempt a swig before remembering her martini was gone.

“Don’t worry, Stacy, we already have most of his money, between the business and the alimony; you’re not out of a job now.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Stacy said sarcastically.

“Unless you’d rather not have gainful employment and health insurance, in which case, I know a lovely dumpster just outside you can move into!” Mallory said, standing up on wobbly, drunken legs, and pulling out a flask from… no. No way. Mallory winked at her and took a swig. “Nature’s pocket can hold so many things,” she said. 

Stacy gagged. Thankfully, she was spared from answering by the doorbell ringing. “What fresh hell is this?” Mallory asked. “Stacy, get the door. And then I want you to send out some media briefs stating that we are boycotting the stuck-up French and not the other way around. People will stand behind us; they all hate the French anyway. As well they should.” Stacy was already halfway to the door by the time Mallory said the word “people,” but it didn’t matter. Mallory took another swig and sat down at her computer. It didn’t matter to her who was at the door or if the French would hate her forever. She had new shoes to buy.


Scent notes: A white floral of jasmine, magnolia and frangipani with bright undercurrents of birch, fennel, and hyssop. Ylang ylang and white tea create a nuanced experienced, and a drop of indole adds sophistication