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.