Ever have one of those times in your life when you feel so tired of being tired and stressed that you just want to do something crazy? When even gorging on chocolate isn't doing it for you anymore? Well I do. And I live in a small town so there aren't many opportunities to act up, at least not without everyone finding out about it. So I had, what seemed at the time, to be a great idea.
I smoked a cigarette.
I know. Bad, right?
In the interest of full disclosure I must make it clear that it wasn't the first time these lips have touched tobacco. But the other times were decades ago and generally involved large amounts of beer, to the best of my recollection.
Then there was the brief infatuation with clove cigarettes in my college years. At the time they were indescribably cool with their vaguely incense-y smell and not being tobacco. But the stale smoke in the dorm room was not nearly as pleasing an aroma, and one time I actually inhaled and came dangerously close to throwing up. It put an abrupt end to that phase of my life.
But now I was feeling reckless.
The first obstacle was buying cigarettes. I think I understand brand loyalty now. I think your favorite cigarette type is the one that you snuck as a delinquent teen because it's the only one you can accurately identify. For a ridiculously old novice like me, this was a challenge. I had seen a sign for Newports somewhere, and I thought "Yeah. Newports. Menthol. Probably good for a cigarette weenie like me. I'll just walk in and ask for Newports." Because, as you all know, dangerous substances such as these are kept behind the counter so you have to ask. No browsing and thinking "This looks good." So Newports. I'd ask for Newports.
Except once I walked in I noticed there were short Newports, long Newports, and Newports in dark aqua, light aqua, blue, and red packs. There was no way to play it cool. I had to ask. The clerk looked at me with a kind of horrified pity. Dark aqua was regular, light aqua was light, and blue was ultra-light. Never did find out what the red was. I opted for the ultra-light as a novice. (The tall ones, of course. I'm sure there's some kind of lingo for that of which I'm not aware.) The Zima of cigarettes. I swear the clerk's eyes were pleading with me not to do this as he took my money.
The next step was finding someplace to do the dastardly deed. My house, of course, was out of the question! I tried to go to my favorite nature preserve that has a pond where I've enjoyed bird-watching, but the pond was frozen and the park closed. I ended up at a cemetery. The irony was not lost on me.
OK. Time to be cool and rebellious. I actually got it lit. To be honest, after the first couple of puffs I thought "Not too bad." I think because my brain was becoming oxygen-deprived from the carbon monoxide (the existence of which was reassuringly pointed out on the package), I actually felt vaguely pleasant and light-headed. Then I noticed the smell.
Oh yeah. I don't actually enjoy the aroma of cigarette smoke. I caught myself trying to stand upwind of the hand with the cigarette. Sure, I'll put it in my lungs, but don't make me smell it.
A few puffs later and the pleasant light-headedness was morphing into a more uncomfortable dizziness, with just a touch of nausea thrown in.
I pretty much finished it, rolled it in a puddle to be sure it was out, and threw it away. I drove away with a 3 ibuprofen headache and a scratchy throat. Not pleasant.
And there, again, was the smell. I couldn't escape it! I had been standing by my car with the window open listening to my incredibly cool music while channeling my inner James Dean. Now I was convinced that the car reeked, so despite the chill in the air I had to drive with the windows open and the heater on full-blast. But it was caught in my hair, in my coat. I thought I had aired-out pretty well, but while I was grocery shopping I happened to scratch my nose and was overwhelmed all over again by that smell. It did not conjure enjoyable sensations. I found a random wetnap in my car and scrubbed my hands.
I thought to myself, wow. People spend their hard-earned money for this. They stand outside in the cold, in rain, in searing heat for this. People do this despite practically being social pariahs. They risk cancer for this. I don't get it.
I guess the only upside to the whole experience is that I think I'm back to myself. I'm a middle-aged mom with middle-aged fashion sense living a pretty middle-aged life. There's really nothing all that "cool" about me. Well, I do have a pretty twisted sense of humor, I'll give myself that. But I'm well past the rebellion stage. At this point it's just mid-life crisis, and a pretty pathetic one at that. Lesson learned.
Guess I'll take the remainder of the pack to the shelter where a desperate, stressed-out woman who can't afford more cigs might actually appreciate them. Although when I offer an ultra-light Newport, I fully expect she may just snort, then pass 'cuz they're so lame. {sigh}
And how are you?
