I would consider myself a social smoker, mainly because I only smoke a cigarette when I’m the company of others that partake in the good old fashioned tabaccy. It’s a rare and unusual occasion (typically when I’m super stressed about one thing in particular) that I buy a pack and just smoke by my lonesome. 

I am usually not around those that do. When I am I return to my filthy habit which in turn drives my husband crazy. It is smoking that has been a huge point of contention in our relationship. He sees it as a waste of money and the person with a cigarette between their lips is instantly unattractive. While I have disagreed he is not wrong.  

In the last I would just keep my habit a secret, hiding hand sanitizer and mouth wash in my car to help wipe away the signs of my smoking. But however “good” I thought I was I know he knew. He would hold his dislike of it to himself and allow me to live in a delusion. Yet I still knew he knew. 

With the close of this show I promised myself and him to that I would stop. Not because of health reasons, or that I feel like a monstrous hypocrite when I tell my pops he needs to stop, but because of my vanity. 

When I look at those that have smoked for years, they take on a particularly leathery look filled with cracks and creases that show their age with more lathered on top. I don’t want that to be me. Plus, after this last revisit to cigarette land I felt like garbage. 

So for the betterment of my relationship and myself I will end my torrid affair with nicotine. It’s him, not me. And I hope to never return.