Sacrilege

I was never a heavy smoker, but what cigarette smoking I did do, has long ago stopped. I'm no longer tempted, either.

I'm not a big fan of cigarette smoking, but it doesn't bug me like it bugs so many people. For many people, non-smoking is a religion. And those people who smoke are going to hell.

Not me. I'd even date someone who smoked. Of course, I'd hope she'd quit, but there are worse things in life. Murder, shoplifting, boozing, low fat dieting, loving A Fish Called Wanda, etc.

I'd just as soon kiss a girl who didn't smoke, don't get me wrong. And, I don't find smoking to be sexy. But, I'm not disgusted either. But, when I see a pretty girl smoking, my mind wanders back to years ago.

A long time ago, I dated a smoker. And, I have a confession to make: I can still taste it. Still smell it on her breath. Right up close. I liked it then, and I've liked it since. I don't claim to understand it. I'm almost sure it's because I kinda liked her. Maybe. But, to many, there's some sort of sacrilege there.

Of course, she didn't just smell like cigarettes. There was ginger in her hair and she was religious about sunscreen. She also wore a wonderful perfume. I don't know which one, so I can't name it, but sometimes I smell it in the air. I know the scent when I smell it, but without the rest, it's just not the same.