Smoking my Fabreeze

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Remember when you used to have to eat next to smokers?  Or fly in an airplane next to smokers?  Or hang out with smokers just because they were cute?  Oh.  Those days are gone, and my nostrils are thrilled.  My lungs are also celebrating.  Of course, now, I can smell a cigarette a mile away.  My nose will alert me and my brain will instantly say, “What the hell?  Who smokes?  How dare they smoke within a mile of my home?!”

Oh we are so very entitled to our clean air these days.

I’m not perfect though (no matter how it may seem).   There was a time when I socially smoked, a brief year or so in college.  It was all the fault of a cute boy.  He smoked, and if I wanted to pretend to have something in common with him, I had to bum a smoke off of him.  Mostly I just held the cancer stick in between my fingers, pretending to be a pro.  Little did I know that I could have appeared more attractive to him if I had just brushed my hair and stopped wearing my pajamas to class.  So.  I did it for a bit.  Fortunately for me, my brain only seizes on to fattening addictions, like chocolate and sugar.  Smoking just never really hooked me.  So there!  Stupid tobacco companies!  If somehow you made chocolate cigarettes  you would have yet another victim.

So, smokers in my locale are now not allowed to smoke in restaurants or bars or even 15 feet from the entrance to a public domain.  Nice.  You have been banished to parking lots.  Well.  Nice for me.

I don’t have to wash my hair as much now.

The thing that continues to confuse me about smokers is this:

While driving, why do you smoke with your windows down?

Is it because you don’t really like smoke?  Is it because you want people to see your smoke and think you are probably extremely cool because you figured out how to light paper on fire?  Is it because you actually don’t want to smell like the stuff you are putting into your lungs?

Oh!  I know!  It’s because second-hand smoke kills.

My bubble is a smoke free zone, and there’s a cute boy in it anyway.  Well.  Boy might be an exaggeration.  Cute-middle-aged man.  I have a couple of friends who smoke.  I have clients who smoke.  The most creative of the bunch are my students who smoke, and then fabreeze themselves before giving massages (assuming this erases all evidence of tabbacco consumption).  Note to smoking massage therapists (and massage students), this doesn’t work.  It’s just a scent over a scent.  I also don’t like fabreeze.  Nasty stuff.

Though, if I had my choice, I’d probably smoke it over cigarettes.

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