Airport duty-free testers are disgusting–those germs have survived tropics and tundras from all over the world–but this one was well worth the risk.

Angel “Cruise” opens loud and proud with delicious fresh mango that lasted the trudge to my gate and through fancy class pre-boarding–I was worried I would be THAT seatmate, who gives everyone in the row a headache with their perfume–but it settled nicely to a few inches off the wrist with pink grapefruit ice by the time I managed to cram my bag into the overhead compartment.
Somewhere over Iceland the sorbet gave way to Angel’s signature caramel patchouli, without the amber musk that I usually find cloying.
It was gone when we landed, and my connection too short to hit the shops for a bottle of my own.
Next trip, maybe.

Here’s some nice light jazz that’s actually wonderfully filthy.