I have a confession to make: I’ve started smoking. I know, I know, it’s a nasty habit and if anyone had told me I’d be doing it ten years ago, I would’ve punched you. I started a week after my mom’s birthday, so I’ve been smoking for almost two months. Everyone I know hates that I do it. I’ve gotten “You’re too pretty to be smoking” or ” You need to leave that alone. My (insert relative here) died from lung cancer/emphysema”. Listen, I don’t need to hear that smoking is bad. I know that it is. I’ve seen what can happen as a result of smoking and no, I don’t want that to happen to me but I smoke anyway.
The first time I smoked a cigarette, it belonged to my coworker. He didn’t offer it to me, I just took it out of his hand and smoked it. He was stunned but allowed me to keep it. I remember the light headed but calm feeling that came over me. I had been having a particularly stressful day and it was time for me to go on break. There was a long line of customers who wanted to order pizza and salad. I am the only cashier and it’s my responsibility to make both salad and ring up customers. Plus I have to ring up pizza orders as well. All while keeping my pizza makers from killing each other in a cloud of pizza dough. So i was pretty anxious to go to take a break. Once that smoke /nicotine got into my lungs, I felt so much better. All the stresses of the entire day faded away and I knew right then and there smoking was going to be my new vice.
I hid it from Mommy N for about a month…or at least I thought I did. When i came clean, she had already known but decided to let me ‘fess up. She isn’t thrilled about it but accepts that I can make my own decisions no matter how disastrous she’s sure they are. As for Mommy A she just wants to remain in denial about what my adult life is like. My friends and coworkers aren’t pleased. I’m sure i will stop as soon as I fell less stressed or whathever this is that makes me smoke.