Saturday, May 17, 2008

Hell Hath No Fury


When I was a kid I was cautioned about smokers. "If you kiss one, " it was declared, "it will taste like you're licking the bottom of an ashtray."

They are so wrong. In fact, it really makes me wonder about whoever made that saying up.

So who where they kissing and why was it so disgusting? Maybe the person never brushed their teeth. (shiver)

Anyway, in our 15 years of marital bliss, I've never, ever, even ONCE bugged you about your smoking. You know that. I do really get it that smoking is an addiction that you have a lot of trouble shaking. People often get on my case about it, but in all honesty I think you could be doing things that are a lot worse. Take drinking, for example. If you were out at the bars every night, I'd have a serious problem with that. Illegal drugs or cheating on me would be a problem, too. If all you do is smoke and drink coffee, I'm considering myself lucky.

People tell me I should make you quite smoking, but I also figure that if I ever gained weight and you took the route of telling me every day that I was fat and to stop eating, it would affect our relationship.

So I leave this smoking thing alone. They are your lungs and you know, you're awesome about doing it outside, away from the rest of us so we don't even have to smell it.

I didn't complain at Disneyland, when we had to stop and wait for you to suck back a damn cigarette every hour or so when we were itching to hit the rides. That wasn't a big deal, and maybe it forced us to slow down a bit, which is probably a good thing.

I didn't complain when you flicked your cigarette butt into the garden at our old house years ago. Even when, hours later, we couldn't understand why it smelled like someone was barbecuing in the living room. Of course, how could we know that you almost set the house on fire? I'm glad it stopped at just melting some of the siding.

I also didn't complain when you caught cryptoccocal gatti, although at first the doctors thought that you were sick because of smoking. Maybe it was walking into a hospital room and finding your spot empty, and every person looking at me with pity because they thought you died, that pushed me over the edge. Or it could be the stint in an ICU when you almost DID die. I still remember going home and destroying your entire carton of cigarettes. Later they declared it wasn't your smoking that made you sick, but it certainly didn't help matters.

Today though, today I'm complaining. I'm not a good gardener. Every plant that I have, that is continuing to live, has been a lot of hard work on my part. That pot with the rosemary plants has taken me a full year to grow. A full year of pruning, watering (but not to much), placing in just the right spot of sun, and I just got it big enough to put outside. Do you realize how much effort has gone into not killing that thing?

Last night, you set my rosemary plant on fire. I'm sure you didn't mean to. I saw you absentmindedly put your cigarette out in the pot, and although I've asked you not to do this, I know you had a hard week and said nothing. Until hours later when Jake came running in the house, yelling that the rosemary pot was puffing smoke, that is.

Of course we dumped a pile of water on it, even though rosemary doesn't like to be wet, and it sizzled like a campfire.

Now I'm complaining.

So sweetie, here's the deal. I will buy you a bucket of sand for you to extinguish your sticks o'cancer when you feel the urge for nicotine. Under no circumstances whatsoever are you to put those butts in my plants again. EVER. Back away from the plants mister, or I'm going to sneak into your stash and break all your precious sticks o' smoke.

Because so help me God, if that rosemary plant dies, I'm going to the garden center and buying the biggest, most expensive replacement, and putting it in an equally expensive, non-meltable pot, despite the fact that you are urging me to save cash for our holiday. I'll even charge it to your Visa.

Hell hath no fury like a woman whose favorite plant has been set ablaze.

Ps...I know that it was purely accidental, and I do forgive you, although your response was that it's "just a plant". Then when I reminded you of the incident where I accidentally shrunk a couple $6 Old Navy t-shirts of yours and you were upset, you answered that this was completely different. You're so right. Especially when I apologized profusely and then replaced them, twice! I think next time I'll just burn holes in them. Then it will be exactly the same, right? Bwahahahaha!

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