I Took My Nose Out Back, And Shot It Like Ol' Factor.

I speak like I write, which is to say, vaguely.
Which is actually to say, not vaguely at all. In fact, there's so much description and manipulation of language that it's practically the opposite of vague. It's downright specific, specific to the point of such great specificity that it's vague.
But this isn't really about that.
(Well, what would you expect? We should always assume that this is about this and that is about that. That/this is how it works. But don't get me started on it. Shh.)
It's about how I speak like I write, which is to say, I use a lot of commas.
It's confusing, supposedly. I use commas to break up sentences in ways so dastardly that you'd think I'd have divided by zero. I'll use them to create pre-pre-preambles and disclaimers spoken so far in advance that, by the time I get to whatever it is that I'm disclaiming, you'll have forgotten when and where I began.
I don't have time to give you examples.
No one has time for commas these days, anyways.
And I'm sure that my examples would contain a lot of them.

Here's what I actually wanted to talk about:

I've always wanted to have a signature scent, because I dress plainly and simply and I like to think that I'm the sort of lady you might associate with that understated elegance, that elegance that says, "I don't need very much makeup or jewelry, but thank you for the offer, 79th suitor I've had this week," and that elegance seems to be accompanied by a scent, you know, the sort of scent left in an elegant woman's wake. Because you know those women, don't you? You see them on the street and can't believe how elegant they are, and how it looks like they don't even try because, really, they don't, they're too busy doing elegant things like ___________________. And you're wrong if you think that you can get rid of those women easily. Because it isn't your mind or your heart where they'll be stuck for all eternity: it's your nose. Long after you've managed to rid yourself of the sight of them, the scent of them will continue to mill about your sinus region, and you'll wonder why everythingeverythingeverything smells like Guerlain Samsara, like Chanel No. 5, like Bulgari Eau Parfumée au Thé Vert.

And, if you're lucky, you'll sneeze.
If you're even luckier, you'll have had a tissue handy.
Because it will be filled the most elegant snot you've ever seen.

The nose is funny like that.

Like when I was running and could have sworn that I smelled blood but maybe it was only because I was listening to Jimi Hendrix and well I have some very predatory urges I guess.

Elegant women probably don't run.
And they probably don't listen to Jimi Hendrix.
And they probably don't smell blood.

There simply isn't enough room to do all that when you're trapped in someone's nose.