I Try a New Vice

I have been toying with the idea of cigar smoking for weeks now. Actually longer. It started when I went to the tobacco shop to buy Manfriend a fine cigar as a Christmas present. The place was fascinating. Full of imported treasures from far away lands. It reminded me of wine, which we all know I gave up long ago. There were dark ones, light ones, long, ones, short ones, even ones dipped in cognac (which of course I cannot have). I've never been a smoker. And since I am living a healthy lifestyle, smoking anything would be a step in the wrong direction. The cigar fantasy continued to haunt my thoughts. I went back a couple of weeks ago to get Manfriend another treat. This time maybe I'd try a puff myself - of his. I did not have the nerve. I kept thinking of how sick I felt the one time I tried to smoke a cigarette when I was 13. I was in bed all afternoon with nausea. I always believed that was a blessing.

Even then I could not shake the subtle obsession. I continued to drift into thoughts of smoking a cigar with Manfriend. After all, I thought, a cigar would be a once in a while delicacy, and of course I would not inhale. Insane little thoughts really. Maybe it seemed exotic or relaxing. Maybe I just wanted a vice that had no calories. I have no idea. But Friday I went back to the tobacco place, bought some paraphernalia, a little leather case to put them in to keep them fresh, a cutter to cut the tip off. Things I did not know existed but were now part of the lure of the impending new habit. I'd have to hide it from the kids, of course (making the idea even more alluring). Perhaps I'd put a recliner in the garage - my den of iniquity. The nice tobacco guy helped me pick a few out for Manfriend and a mild one he recommended for me. So I left, armed with the trappings of a mysterious new cult.

I took until Sunday afternoon to get the nerve to do the deed. Manfriend and I had stopped after church (of all times) at a slightly sleezy cigar selling place where he took me in a little room called a humidor and he picked out yet another exotic cigar. A deep dark shiny big one from far away. We went to his place. He happily puffed his while I watched with fascination. The ritual of cigar smoking is much more complex than I imagined. Finally, I got out mine. He helped light it. There was not much flavor to it, really, but there was something decadent and exciting about the smoking of it. The act of smoking itself. The handling, the rolling of the smoke in my mouth, the playing around with it. The mildly intoxicating aroma. Manfriend looked like an old gangster. I felt like a runaway, hiding out at his place, smoking. I sensed I could get totally lost in all of it and perhaps even a bit unravelled. I could get addicted. Lose myself, etc. I felt reckless. I liked it.

After just a bit of the puffing on the thing it was time to go grocery shopping together. I felt tipsy. Or something. But the shopping was quite fun and I made some rather odd impulse buys. I even had an ice latte while I shopped. Then the phenomenon of craving set in. I needed to go home and cook dinner for the kids and clean a space in the garage for my brother's stuff. At home was a fat Brazilian dark cigar stashed away as a treat for Manfriend. Finding my mild one a bit dull I fantasized about the Brazilian. After all, I had to work in the garage, didn't I? Wasn't that my new smoking lounge? After the kids were fed and happily upstairs doing whatever they were doing, I went out to clean. I took the Brazilian. It was rich, and spicy. I was on a roll. I could barely light the thing or keep it lit but I wanted it.

I took it in the car with me to go to brother's ex-roomie's place. I stopped off for a lighter and breath mints. I tried to smoke the thing in the car with the sun roof open. I felt I was getting in a little deep. I stopped at Manfriend's, and brought my Brazilian in with me. After a couple of puffs I took Manfriend with me to load my car with brother's things. It was uneventful and we hurried back to his place and back to my Brazilian. He lit it for me (takes skill to get the thing going good enough to smoke apparently) and then things really got out of hand. I accidentally inhaled a couple or a few times. I was in too deep. I wanted to melt into a smokey oblivion. I went past euphoria and into nausea. It was some time before I could drive home. Manfriend was watching some violent movie which added to my nausea. Just when I thought I might be recuperating he lit his up again and the smell put me back into the icks. I did not have the heart to tell him to put it out. He kept chuckling at me and asking if I wanted him to call me a cab. After some crackers and bottled water some time later I was able to leave.

I think cigars are not my thing. I hoped I could tolerate them, which is bizarre when I think about it today. Me wanting something unhealthy to make me healthy. In my own sick way I thought they might help me lose weight. Curb my appetite, relax me, and so on. The truth is they'd be bad for me. They'd up my blood pressure, make me stink and stuff. Oh well. I tried.

I am down to 160 today, but it's not the cigar. I resisted extras over the weekend. Even turned Manfriend down for his Sunday morning cinnamon rolls before church. Friday night when we all went out to eat and others had burgers and fries (and shakes and malts) I happily had a cup of soup knowing I'd feel good about it when I weighed myself and when my pants fit better. And I do feel good about it today. Very good. I took grandson rollerskating on Saturday and that was my workout. I'm still doing abs and upper body at home in the morning as well.

More will be revealed.