IL EST TRÈS DOUCE
Yesterday I mentioned to a fellow pipe collector that I had a number of unsmoked briars, including a vintage Comoy's Blue Riband, Dublin shape, which, if I ever met the ideal woman, would probably be gifted as a love token.
"How", he asked, "will you know if she's the perfect match?"
Well that's easy; within weeks you're finishing each others thoughts while stealing each other's opened tins of pipe tobacco.
He agree that that indeed sounded lovely.
And he looked a bit wistful.
From this you should know that the ideal woman does NOT smoke aromatics. Why, the very thought of sticking 'Molto Dolce' (by Sutliff) into a briar would appall her. What an awful waste of a well-crafted smoking tool! Horrendous!
[Molto Dolce: a blend of Virginia, Burley, and Black Cavendish, drenched in humectants -- it does not dry out, but like the Mummy remains "juicy" long past the point when real tobacco turns to dust -- whored-up with vanilla, caramel, and something alleged to be honey. It is very popular in parts of the country where they drink Jägermeister or Jim Beam Red Stag, and don't actually have real tobacco stores. The tin we opened last year still feels moist and oily;
this truly is your perfect nuclear fall-out shelter smoke.
It will outlive the cockroaches, and drive the other occupants one by one to the surface, to scout out whether the radiation has half-lifed enough that humans can survive. Very good if their company palls.]
The ideal woman has intelligent tastes. No frou-frou frangrances, no fruity liquor, and no "look at me!" exhibitionistic tendencies.
An active mind is important.
Hard to find.
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Labels: Molto Dolce