A week ago as Wade and I snuggled up in bed, unwinding from the day, he began to read aloud an internet article citing random facts we as humans rarely give a second thought to. The one he found most intriguing (and in his words, ridiculous and stupid), as any man whose body inhabits a smiggen of estrogen compared to my own, was perfume ads/commercials. The idea that we (ones with compelling amounts of estrogen) are drawn to particular perfumes simply by extravagant television ads that make absolutely no lick of sense. An ad selling the idea of a smell. Case in point ~ Natalie Portman escaping her wedding, only to be lifted midair into a helicopter by a rope ladder. Oh, Miss Dior, I'm baffled, yet totally drawn into this 30-sec soap opera. I suppose wearing a spritz would make me cheeky and a heroine all at once. You managed to portray the craziest of acts with fervor and well, yes, I'll take one bottle, please. Dont even get me started on Charlize Theron glamorously ripping gorgeous ocean pearls from her neck while hoisting herself up amber-colored silk. I wonder what Khaleesi's ad would look like?