Victoria works at a small diner just off of the highway in a small town in Ontario. The lunch and dinner hour are always steady, but other than that there isn’t much to do. She works in a scent free workplace, due to allergies of course. No nail polish of any kind is allowed. Her hands are cracked and dry from washing too often. She waits for 3 o’clock, staring at the minutes pass by.
At home she immediately showers. She washes all of the smells that have followed her home, reminding her of the miserable customers and the arrogant boss that she endures. They are not welcome here. She scrubs so hard that her skin turns beet red. As she emerges from the water, naked and clean, she takes a deep breath. She enhales the freedom that ends Monday morning.
Preparing for the night, Victoria glances at the colours of nail polish sitting on her vanity. A light purple catches her eye, and even though she’ll have to remove it Sunday evening, the hassle will be worth the feeling. She paints on her face, but feels that something is missing. She remembers a smell she used to love when she was a child that reminded Victoria of her mother. Searching the packed boxes of her mother’s things, she finds what she is looking for. A small bottle of lilac perfume sits in the palm of her hand. As she sprays it in the air, she feels safe. Spritzing herself, she feels protected. She is ready.