A woman at our yard sale wore a perfume that smelled heavenly and familiar. “What are you wearing?” I asked.
“White Shoulders,” she said. Suddenly, I was bowled over by a flood of memories. White Shoulders was the one gift I could count on at Christmas from my late mother. We chatted awhile, and she bought some things and left. A few hours later, she returned holding a new bottle of White Shoulders. I don’t recall which one of us started crying first.
Media Stooksbury, Powell, Tennessee