The Rose Knows!

Notes from Alexis: Ladies this one is for us! May we always enjoy our flower gardens! This story was written by Gwen in the mid 1980’s.


When I lose weight, I lose it first on my face, then my arms and finally on my legs, completely bypassing the rich mountain deposits and the low hill lands to the south, not to mention the meadow in between. Why is that?

The truth is that it isn’t the mountains or the lowland outcroppings that bother me. It isn’t even the fat that’s washed to other shores. It’s the meadow. One wants it flat and level or better yet, valleyesgue. Who needs a big belly?

Now it seems to me that scientists and beauty experts are completely missing a chance to have their names attached to a great breakthrough, a marvelous discovery. The invention that is needed here is not a diet pill or diet plan, it is a ‘Nostrum’ to rub upon the areas to be reduced. Something with the odor of violets to lave upon the tummy until it reaches the sublime proportions desired. Or perhaps roses for thighs a dab too rounded and honeysuckle for a bust grown too large to fit nicely in a favorite dress. Maybe heliotrope for hips that sway a trifle more than absolutely necessary for enticement.

Think of it! Go to your favorite perfumery and ask for a scented miracle to do away with horror and despair. The beauty is, of course, that if your abundant charms light some gentle man’s eyes and you don’t want to lose the gentleman along with the fat, you can stop when you see the gleam slipping.

For those who like men who like thin; a garden of flower scents will further enslave him as you melt before his very eyes.

I am tired of sweat. I’m sick of pain that makes me thin and gaunt in some places and doesn’t touch the others. It is clear to me that some of my dulcet is going to be swept away before I can ever get the desired areas cleared. I don’t want to be thin and willowy. Well as a matter of fact I can’t be willowy–I’m too short. And maybe I can’t be thin either. Some small part of me (maybe the only small part of me) is attracted to the kind of man who likes soft.

I like well-rounded arms and legs where you can’t see the bone. I don’t mind having a bust and it’s easier to sit on a cushion than a board. I don’t want arms like toothpicks and a gaunt face rising like a specter from my creamy shoulders.I want what I want where I want it. Some here, some there, and maybe experiment a little along the way. Instead of asking your friends if they are on a diet you could sniff and say, “Taking a little off the tummy, Janet?” and she would reply “You want to watch the heliotrope, Gwen, it can get away from you so fast. I’ve had to cut down drastically.” To which comes the reply, “I know but it drives him mad so I use just a bit now and then,” with wicked chuckles and smiles.

And the exchanges, the trading of scents back and forth between friends as you reach sublime with roses but need a trifle more honeysuckle. Instead of sorrow and pain, all would be delicious laughter and delighted sighs. The pursuit of love should be fraught with the essence of flowers not eau de pain.

I’m not quite ready yet to die for love. I want perfection of form, but I would rather spend my time writing poetry while my perfume works its magic on the man, while working its magic on my body.

Gwen Campbell

Copyright Alexis Campbell-Jansky 2013