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"I am a woman who likes traditional presents: lingerie, kitchen appliances, and Chanel No. 5 \u2014 my signature scent since I was 15 years old. I still remember wandering down the perfume aisle at Jordan Marsh sampling Chlo\u00E9 (my mother&amp;#039;s perfume), then picking up the atomizer with the interlocking C&amp;#039;s. It was love at first spray.  Even I, a girl from a small mill town, knew who Coco Chanel was; I&amp;#039;d heard Marilyn Monroe&amp;#039;s line that all she wore to bed was her Chanel No. 5. Except for a short misguided period when I switched to Chanel No. 19 (silver bottle, citrusy, less cachet), I&amp;#039;ve stuck with the scent, believing it has the power to transform me into someone sophisticated.  So when my husband, Lorne, walked into my birthday party a couple of years ago carrying a box from Nordstrom, I was pleased but not surprised \u2014 until I lifted the lid and found, instead of my usual sleek, black Chanel refill, an elaborate bottle with a &amp;quot;C&amp;quot; logo \u2014 but this &amp;quot;C&amp;quot; stood for Cartier&amp;#039;s Le Baiser du Dragon.  &amp;quot;I know it&amp;#039;s not Channel Five,&amp;quot; said Lorne, using our pet name, &amp;quot;but I smelled this at the counter and loved it so much I had to buy it for you.&amp;quot; My husband has liked to nuzzle my neck, murmuring how good I smell, since the night we first shared a bowl of pasta at Carmella&amp;#039;s restaurant. Now, a dozen years later, he&amp;#039;s buying me a different perfume.  Passing up someone&amp;#039;s scent is like rejecting that person, isn&amp;#039;t it? When a baboon doesn&amp;#039;t like the way a female smells, he finds himself a different baboon that smells better. &amp;quot;If you don&amp;#039;t like it,&amp;quot; my husband was saying, &amp;quot;you can take it back.&amp;quot; Of course I wanted to take it back! Still, I didn&amp;#039;t want him going in search of a different baboon, did I? The very next night, on our way to a party, he took a big sniff near my neck and said, &amp;quot;Ooh, is that the new perfume I gave you?&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Nope,&amp;quot; I said, &amp;quot;it&amp;#039;s still Channel Five.&amp;quot; He seemed disappointed \u2014 but who was he to complain when he couldn&amp;#039;t even smell the difference?  When I told my friend what Lorne had done, she was aghast. &amp;quot;Bring it back,&amp;quot; she said. &amp;quot;You have to.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Keep it,&amp;quot; another friend advised me. &amp;quot;Wear it. You have to.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;What&amp;#039;s the big deal?&amp;quot; a third friend asked me. &amp;quot;You don&amp;#039;t wear the clothes you wore when you were 15 years old, do you?&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Uh,&amp;quot; I said, &amp;quot;actually, I do.&amp;quot;  The next afternoon I found myself in Nordstrom, conducting a Cartier sniff test. I sprayed. I sneezed (twice). I sniffed my wrist. I smelled like a stranger. That night, our 12-year-old son had a sleepover in the attic with a bunch of his buddies. Going up to check on them, I was ambushed by a cloud of Axe cologne. &amp;quot;They say it attracts girls,&amp;quot; one of them offered as I backed out the door, choking on the fumes. I hated the smell, but I loved the power of their belief. Climbing into the shower, I remembered the long-ago summer when my friend Beth and I wore Love&amp;#039;s Fresh Lemon every day, believing it promised kisses and fields of daisies. Not long after, I switched my allegiance to a whole different kind of beast: Tigress roll-on, which made me feel powerful. Last of all came Chanel. From my very first whiff, it whispered to me of sophistication, travel to far-flung places, love.  Out of the shower, I dressed for a special evening: an art-gallery opening, then dinner with Lorne \u2014 this time for his birthday. I picked up that ornate bottle with the other C. What did I have to lose?  I sprayed myself, sneezed several times, and slipped on my little black dress. All night I waited for Lorne to say something. He didn&amp;#039;t, but everyone else did, and they loved it. Back in the car, I said to Lorne, &amp;quot;Did you notice? I&amp;#039;m wearing that perfume you gave me. He leaned in and nuzzled my neck. &amp;quot;Mmm. You smell delicious,&amp;quot; he said. &amp;quot;But then, you always do.&amp;quot; That&amp;#039;s when I knew: The Cartier wasn&amp;#039;t intended to make me over. It was just a gift \u2014 a whimsical, romantic message in a bottle from a guy who, after almost 14 years, still only has eyes (and a nose) for me. Ann Hood&amp;#039;s most recent books are The Knitting Circle and Comfort: A Journey Through Grief. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/relationships/advice/a18697/romantic-gifts-love-stories/>