If you are very, very lucky, or very, very cool, you might end up like my friend Bets, who is 80 years old, one of the best story tellers (among her myriad other facets of coolness) I know. She also, with great joy, wears the most wonderful and ridiculous footwear. Unfortunately, this photo does not do her justice. The shoes are deep purple and the socks are blindingly pink. I mean BLINDINGLY pink. I adore them and the woman wearing them. Hopefully I'll figure out this photo deal soon, but in the meantime, here are Bet's feet, a pale version of her truthiness. What a shame.
The worst thing about not smoking is this: we smokers tend to live a little bit in our own world (of denial) and we do it very well, and often, with quite a bit of gladness. One of the things we do is, when we have a little victory in life, we celebrate with a cigarette. We don't need an audience; indeed, that little tube of paper and tobacco is quite enough. It may be nothing more than a good parking spot, or a rainbow or finally winning that solitaire game or not giving in to a fit of temper or giving in and carrying it off well...but all worth the self congratulatory smoke. And I have to tell you, whatever the hell it is a non-smoker does, it is the reason they usually look so grim. It's because to celebrate a victory, they've done something bad. Maybe they ran two miles, or ate 47 Twinkies or beat their children, or smoked pot (which may not be bad, but it may be) or drank some orange juice, but whatever they did, it was bad (equate bad with...I can't get no satisfaction). Trust me on this. Because without a cigarette, you have to do something to celebrate the little things in life. Well, don't YOU???
Since the engine on my dinghy is kaput and the wind has been up or my back has been screaming, I've not gone out to the houseboat in way too long. Today it was calm enough...my back is happy. So I rowed out to the houseboat to set it right on its pins and just enjoy the...being there...of it. That called for a cigarette, of course. And there was my ashtray...full of very long cigarette butts. Yes, I know what you are expecting but get over it, I didn't do it. I didn't even ponder it. I didn't even dump the ashtray. So there. But I did wonder, what will I do??? So I took a whole bunch of photographs, drank the oj and vodka I'd brought out in a thermos and then rowed back to the dock. The cat was glad was glad to see me. It's not the same. Maybe I'll become a champion something or other for compensation...but I doubt it.