I quit smoking for the first time in 1984. I was 32 years old and had been smoking since I was 14. I liked it. I have no idea how or, now that I think about it, why. I left a partially full pack of Marlboros on the coffee table for about two weeks, then threw them away since I no longer wanted one.
I was living in Manhattan at the time so it must have been peer pressure even though my then husband, let’s call him Mr. Three, was one of those bastards who could smoke 3 cigarettes during a night out and then not have another one for two weeks. I have always been an "all or nothing" kinda gal, so it was a pack and a half a day or none at all. I enjoyed being a non smoker, but not for any of the obvious reasons…I was just glad that I had my own power back.
In 1991, Mr. Three and I boarded a private plane and jetted our way to southwest Texas to attend a second wedding of our very good friend, Charles. I had grown up in that part of the world and was excited to be going back. Blue skies that go on forever, desert flowers, clean, crisp air and the smell of mesquite mixed with horse leather…ahhhhh. Heaven on earth.
After we disembarked on to the tarmac of the tiny country airport outside Marfa, Mr. Three took out his pack of Marlboros and lit one up. No big whup. He’d continued to smoke infrequently during the 7 years of my abstinence. But, for some reason, on that day and at that very moment, it occurred to me to smoke a cigarette. We were in Marlboro Country and the only thing missing was a gorgeous man on horseback with a cig between his fingers and his other hand tipping the brim of his hat to a lady.
I thought, "Well, for heaven’s sake…what can one cigarette do? I haven’t had one in 7 friggin years, and by cracky, I deserve one." May I tell you that it felt like having a slow, deliciously seductive orgasm. It did! But, that was that…it was over and gone and not another thought about it.
The posh ranch wedding festivities spanned three days and took place in the remote desert acreage of Charles’s spread. Our host had laid out a small tent village that offered all the amenities of an Abercrombie and Kent African safari. Laid before the forty-plus guests was just about anything any of us could possibly ask for…except cigarettes.
Having reignited the nicotine monster in my system, I found myself wanting another cigarette that evening with the sunset cocktail presented to me. It was not an overwhelming desire…just a tiny urge that, as I continued to drink, began to grow. I saw a friend light up and casually bummed another cigarette. At that point, I knew I was in trouble. I could hardly let Mr. Three know that I would sell our first born (as soon as we had one) for the NEXT cigarette. After all, I had my power and my pride.
Like what you're reading? Get email notifications when The Midlife Gals (r) posts, or get updates on Facebook, iGoogle, your personal blog and more!
