I hate smoking.
I probably should qualify that statement.
I hate cigarettes.
Both my parents smoked Kool Filter Kings cigarettes.
They smoked everywhere. Nowhere was off limits.
In the house, out in the yard, inside the car, in the basement, hell even in the bathroom. Lordy.
In the Service, we had to occasionally go on cigarette butt patrol. I had to pick up lazy peoples’ used cigarette butts tossed carelessly on the ground. My Sargent refused to hear my plea that only smokers should be policing cigarette butts. It was maddening.
Therefore, for a good portion of my life, I found smoking to be a disgusting habit.
. . . until I met cigars.
I love cigars.
I blame a fraternity roommate who hooked me. I think he came out of the womb with a cigar clenched in his teeth.
I find cigar smoking. . . relaxing.
When I find the right opportunity, I also enjoy a good hookah as well. It’s even more relaxing.
Hypocrisy be my name.
Hey, does anyone have a light?
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