No More Crying

My previous three posts caused a lot of tears--both happy and sad--but now I'll pull a complete 360.  I'm gonna go all the way back to the late 80s and talk about the designer perfume of choice...

ELECTRIC YOUTH.

That's right, people.  Debbie Gibson's signature scent, Electric Youth.  It was my signature of choice, too, for all of 4th and 5th grade.  I remember my great-grandfather gave me a bottle of pink-tinged EY for Christmas in 4th grade (it was the first gift he gave me after my great-grandmother passed away), and boy oh boy did I enjoy spraying some on my wrists and dabbing a bit behind the ears.  I felt so cool.  So hip.  So happening.  So like Debbie Gibson.

Why am I going on and on AND on about Electric Youth the Perfume today?  Well, because I went into a public restroom at the fancy schmancy Siebel Center for Computer Sciences on the UIUC campus yesterday, and it smelled just. like. ELECTRIC YOUTH.  It was heady, so musky, so THERE.  I was teleported back to my 10 year old self, and I wasn't even in a DeLorean equipped with a flux capacitor.  It was outrageous.

I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking of a few of things:

1) Will the old bottle I kept in my bedroom, that's now been boxed up after my bedroom was cleared out last year, still smell as wonderful as it did in 1990?
2) If not, can I buy some on eBay?
3)  If I can't do THAT, will Debbie Gibson start to mass produce it again?...or has she already?  I wish there was the wearer of the scent was still in the bathroom when I went in there.  I would have totally asked for a spritz...or two.