Ocean Breeze: You are deeply invested in the idea of “spoiling yourself,” largely because if you do not do it, no one else will. You spend your one week of vacation at a spa with your favorite cousin, and it is always the best week of the year.
Lemon: You hate the word “moist” and watching scary movies. “You guys,” you say to your friends, if anyone in your group talks about going to see one. “You guys, you know I can’t,” as if you are fatally allergic to them. Most of them find you faintly ridiculous and more than a little weak for it; at least one secretly appreciates your speaking up about it so they don’t have to. You feel increasingly insulted every time someone brings it up, as if they are doing it to spite you personally. One of them is.
Cinnamon/Vanilla/Chocolate: You regularly bring homemade baked goods into the office “for no reason.” The reason is that you want to be enormously beloved. You want people to notice when you are not there, and to ask about how you’re doing, and to think about how you will feel about things before they make decisions that affect you. People thank you for the baked goods, but almost always in a way that suggests they have become used to it and frankly expect it of you. If you forgot, they would briefly resent you, then forget about it entirely.
Sandalwood/Ylang-Ylang: You own an old record player that is still in excellent working condition and have nothing but disdain for people who own record players with iPhone docks.
Rosemary/Thyme: You subscribe to Real Simple magazine and clean your house exclusively with Mrs. Meyer’s products. You often express a desire to “eat clean,” and your boyfriend is friendly and unobjectionable. The two of you regularly take trips together, and you spent last Christmas with his family (his mother loves you, although not quite as much as you think) but have not yet brought up the subject of moving in with one another.