Notes from an ex-smoker

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Dear person that sits on our front stoop and fags it all PM:

Please stop. It’s been 2.5 years since I had a cigarette, and yes I know I don’t need one, and yes – I am fully aware I actually don’t want one. BUT for some totally fucked up reason, whatever you are smoking smells like it could do no evil, and all I really want to do, is come downstairs with my enorm cup of tea and have one with you – perhaps bond over the fleeting 7 minute moment we share.

See that’s the problem with you and your cigarettes; smokers, they bond. That’s something to actually be missed from not smoking – that moment towards the end of a meal, or before a meal – or during a meal – where a small group of you excuse yourselves and head outside to gossip and fag.

Somehow being freezing, a drink in one hand, ciggie in the other, automatically being 15lbs lighter than you should be (because that seems to be how cigarette science works), you are making firm friends over something that will inevitably kill you.

The other thing about smoking is people mostly look cool doing it. Sometimes no when they are in acid wash jeans, are over weight, and donning some sort of hideous “Ski Tahoe!” jumper. But there are those other magical moments, which is how I imagine you mysterious front stoop smoker – where you are the 5’7 babe I want to be, with long legs, and thighs that don’t touch, in skinny jeans some sort of heavy boot and a jacket that should have been given to those in the military but somehow you managed to throw it on so nonchalantly – it’s perfect.

And there you sit smoking a ciggie – looking effortless, perfect white teeth and glossy hair – people stare, because aren’t you cool? Why are you so cool? Soft yet edgy, PG but still not quiet safe for work. I’ll tell you why – that cigarette.

Mind you person on the stoop under my window – what you must remember is:

  1. Your clothes stink, mine don’t.
  2. Your hair stinks, mine doesn’t.
  3. Your breath stinks, but not mine.
  4. Your fingers are probably a yellowy color – because that happens, unless you hold you fags an unusual way – and then whatever – your hands will still stink, regardless – yellow maybe not – point is mine are none of that.

So as much as I want to join you, and automatically:

  • Bond
  • Lose 15lbs
  • Look fucking epic with smoke dribbling out of my mouth

I wont because I smell like flowers, have skin that glows, and sometimes there are boys that enjoy smelling my hair – because it’s that delicious. I might be soft to touch, not as bond worthy as some, and look less epic than you – but I’ll probably live forever, and will always have health insurance.

So quit it. Right now, immediately.

Much love, Lucy


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About LUCY

Femme of sass, sometimes.