February 19, 2010
I�m trying not to smoke inside. Really I�m trying not to smoke at all but here I am, smoking anyway. Occasionally. I have one or two at night. Three or four if a beer�s involved and, since I�m on vacation, there aren�t too many hours in the day where beer isn�t involved or at the ready.(I suppose I�ve just described a Wisconsinite�s version of a perfect vacation.)
The cigarette is sitting on the balcony. I am sitting just inside. I lean outside the balcony�s screen to take a drag. So technically I�m not smoking inside. But this whole undertaking wasn�t that easy.
Indeed I wasn�t very prepared for this whole smoking thing at all as I somehow made it upstairs from whence I smuggled the cigarettes without any form of fire. After a very intense half hour of digging through various closets, drawers and bags, I was able to find a condom. Expired, no less. This was followed by a fairly short bit of amusement as I attempted to discern which of my frolicking family members had used the condo (and not the condom) prior to 12-08. Bah. Good show, I say.
At last there appeared before me, in the bottom drawer of the bathroom sink, a box of matches. This box of matches has seen better, less humid days. But with a bit of luck and a lot of determination, I was able to light one of the little suckers and produce fire.
Mighty fine time to be reintroduced to fire safe cigarettes�
Whatever, I have a goal and that is to smoke this stupid cigarette. Outside of course. Where the dimly lighted pool, such a striking blue although it�s night, across the way begs of a few hours full of debauchery, where the palm trees stand with significance against the harsh blast of the long northern freeze known as winter and where the occasional sound of a v-twin engine can be heard shifting through gears on the main drag just down the drive.
So, yes, I have to admit -- I really enjoyed this one smoke.