Semi-memoir

I sniff the perfume, it's some kind of suffocating rose smell and a long vial.
It's at least half a century old, or more. It's my aunt's perfume.
She's dead,
and I only smell very strong odors.
It's a thick rose I like.
She never married, but she was crazy in love with men in general.
Oh, she seems to have just fallen in love with my husband after meeting him.
I'd never felt such genuine affection for a man.
He was a womanizer, actually.
Is that too revealing? But she was already dead, she didn't love me.

It's a strange text.

It's nostalgia, that's what her perfume smells like.
Can I write my memoirs at last?
Of course.
And she had perfect legs with a very high instep and a straight posture and an aristocratic profile.
Oh! That's the real breed! Said my wicked art teacher when she came to see me off at the station one day, and he saw her walking down the platform.
She was the real Margaret Thatcher of her accounting department.
When she died her feet were wearing heeled shoes.
Shoes at home, not slippers, at 80.
She was a woman who liked a strict uniform.
Anyway, I don't even know anything about her.
Her father was a Stalinist and a high-ranking military man.
She was very proud of him all her life.
I think she spent her whole life trying to please her father.

No one's interested.
Yeah, I know.
but I could easily write 100 Years of Solitude right from this point.

Okay, I won't.
It's just this perfume. It's a very concentrated rose oil, by the way.
She also loved loukoum.
She loved anything with roses, but she always dressed in strict English suits.
She never wore pants.
I never gave her a rose in my life, but she's dead now.

Roses from you wouldn't have pleased her anyway.
It's a man's gift. You didn't understand the man.
And the misunderstanding was mutual.
But now she's dead.

A crazy girl dressed head-to-toe in sacks, she never understood her either.
Yes, she gave me many times very beautiful dresses of excellent quality, which I hated.
I lay on my back and pounded my feet on the floor - I'm not wearing that dress.
Oh, my God, the baby almost had an epileptic seizure.
And it was a very beautiful dress, by the way, emerald-colored and embroidered.
 
Ouija, do we keep memories like that? I'm less than five years old.
Yes, and I insisted on doing it then. My kitty shorts and my kitty shirt are the prettiest for anywhere.
her beautiful gift dresses no one's ever worn.

Where did that vial of that ancient perfume come from on my desk anyway?
Inheritance?
Oh, that's just great.

Last Saturday before the new year.
Do I take stock?
But I'm not an accountant.
I probably won't have shoes on my feet at the hour of my demise. I'm barefoot even now.

----------------------------------------------
She wasn't even really my aunt,
Our great-grandmothers were directly related--
an almost elusive kinship.
So she was more like a grandmother to me, but always called auntie,
She probably wouldn't have settled for grandmother.

So now you've decided to write your own family tree?
No. I've had enough.