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Cough, Hack, I resolve
Although I normally
avoid the subject of New Year's Resolutions, this year I
must make just one more – I have to quit smoking.
Although sexual preference is no longer something to
hide in the closet over, if you're a smoker then you're
lucky to find a closet to hide in.
Smoking is no longer cool in the
nineties, and I'm guessing things will only become worse
for smokers in the new millennium. So, before I'm forced
to spend my life encased in a bubble with my own
exhaust, I elect to quit.
For those of you with clear, pink
lungs, I need to mention that the price of cigarettes
has become outrageous. No longer can I justify the
family budget, when I spend enough on cigarettes each
week to feed Sally Struthers and her kids. <continued
below>
Quitting smoking is not a new
experience for any smoker. Since nicotine can be as
addictive as heroin, the built-in failure rate is high.
Most of us spend as much time quitting as we do smoking,
and life is not quite the same without our little pack
of security blankets.
Suddenly, we have nothing to do with
our hands. You'll see us trying to look suave and
sophisticated holding a carrot stick (or even worse, a
lollipop). The sex appeal is not quite the same. I never
saw Bette Davis pucker up for a candy cane.
We always come to the startling
revelation (regardless of the number of times we've quit
before) that we used to stink. Hug a smoker, and you can
tell immediately if that jacket came out of the closet
in which they hide and smoke.
Mitzi Bryant is an accountant and freelance writer when
she's not playing single-mom to her three children:
Will, Kate, and Anna. She's also been honored for her
poetry, and is perpetually writing the long-awaited
chapbook of her collected poems.
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