You know what I love—cigarettes. Oh-my-f*&^ng God–I love them. If I wasn’t certain that I’d die from cancer I’d smoke them all day every day. I haven’t smoked in YEARS–DECADES but sometimes–some days there is nothing I want more than a big old Marlboro Light.
Today is that day.
I want to slip out a cigarette, put it to my lips, light that baby and inhale so deeply that I cough so loud and hard that my throat hurts. I mean come on–what do they put into those things that after decades of not even having one I still want to puff on something akin to the end of an exhaust pipe? Crack?
Regardless–I won’t be buying any cigarettes because I could be an addict–seriously–I could so easily slip into the ‘I’m a smoker’ routine but then what would I get for that. Lung cancer. Emphysema. Early death. Yeah–that’s the crap of being middle-aged you take a serious look at the potential outcome of your actions.
Uh-huh. Two kids under age 10=No Cigarettes.
But once I hit 90 years baby–pass me the ciggy.