Let's discuss for just one second.
It's Andrew's birthday. To celebrate, his brother, Adam, and Adam's girlfriend, Julie, throw a little soiree at their house. It's a cute house...all bungalow-y, nicely decorated and pet free (God bless them). We walk in and the house smelled so nice; festive and like cinnamon. I figure, like any red blooded American, that Julie has some Bath and Body Works plug-ins hooked up in the kitchen.
Not so much.
On the stove, cinnamon sticks and orange gently are heated in water. Or maybe in was apple juice. I got conflicting stories.
It smells amazing. But, seriously, who does this? Are we in a time warp? Is it 1863? No? 1901, perhaps? Is that a wood burning stove?
I imagine a person who is capable of making their own heated potpourri must be the most serene, pleasant, quiet lady that ever walked the Earth. She must be the epitome of a homemaker. She must be one of those ladies that makes 'homemaker' a real career.
But, no. She is Julie. She is a wild woman.
That bottle she's drinking out of? I'm pretty sure she stole it from a bar.
Ah, I love the French. They always leave you begging for more.