Pavlova

pavlova edges
Micro bottle with a doll’s tutu around the neck, leaning against the mirror of a rose velvet jewelry box.

Pavlova starts as fingernails on a chalkboard, gives a stern lesson in botany, then hands out sugar pastilles while dismissing class.

Gen X girls got this as a hand-me-down from Mom in the seventies. She was gifted it in a holiday present swap, bought because it was cheap and the packaging was pretty.
We stashed it in the bottom of the pink jewelry box with the ballerina who spun to a wind-up version of Swan Lake; we never understood the significance.

A shrill chypre powder grenade with a dry sweet finish.


This is my favorite arrangement of Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece.