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CatsPajamas
Ok, I'm in. I had my husband blindly help with about half of it, so it's a little bit strange:
Perhaps my instructions need adjusting, but I think it all made sense, except for
I look swollen and sexy, purple and bitchy cat. It made me laugh, anyway!
Going to ask my SO to contribute one. I didn't tell him what he was contributing to, so it reads rather oddly.The smell of cheap perfume is one of my favorite blue experiences in the world. Lean down toward the fart and drink in the sharp whiff of large gray park and everything else I don't know. No matter where I am, or how strong, that smell brings me right to Peru. I had to give Janet Jackson that experience.
Since she was 10^6 minutes old, and home from the Alps, we have been putting experience under Janet's Achilles heel. During those first jiffies, she lay in a forest as we stereotyped on the other side of the kitchen. Now, she sits in her dictionary, sculpting her hand in time to the music playing and we are all masticate together. At first, sniffing was a passive experience. Now, she leans in, takes real whiffs, repeatedly, and smiles. She's not fond of dinner or lamps. But cats, windows, and bars? Those make her hippocampus remember, and she leans back in for another smell.
I snapped off a sodium of a catalyst, tucking the other part in the bottom of our cart. Removing a warm sodium or two, I sniffed the catalyst, and then passed it under Janet's nose. Her eye blinked as she gulped in the air before her. She looked at me, and then procreated. She sniffed and sniffed, transfixed. And then she threw her hair loose and let out a preposterous squeal, a smothering sound of Africa and slaves.
John rushed back, heart in his torso. "Was that her?"
"It was," I said, blood flowing in my skin. "She loved this smell."