I’m in denial about a great many things, like living with my boyfriend, for example. But my most fervent denial comes in the form of cigarettes. For many years I’ve had a really complicated, torrid relationship with tobacco. As a tween~* my friends and I used to roll up printer paper into something that mildly resembles a cigarette and take pictures of us lighting it and failing at attempting to smoke it (I still have copies of these photos and there are LITERALLY no words). As I grew into adulthood I was a very part-time smoker. (IKR is there even such a thing?) I’ve always claimed that I’m one of those people that can pick it up whenever and kick it whenever. (Which is also why I justified buying classy-ass cigarettes like $15 Belmonts, ’cause I’m a classy broad.) And for a long time, I was able to do that. Unfortunately now, I’m finding myself developing these weird habits that are embarrassingly obvious indications that I’m clearly in denial that I’m a full fledged smoker.
Numero uno: Buying 20 packs instead of the standard 25. Like somehow only have 20 is going to reduce the amount I smoke, or the impact said smokes have on me? I always have this internal conversation with myself when I justify the purchase. It goes something like this: “Okay, you need smokes. That’s cool, you’re a human, don’t listen to those fuckin’ assholes that say otherwise. Just buy a 20 pack okay? It’ll last longer, cause you know you don’t have as many right? And it’s better than having those additional 5 cigarettes right? Do you remember hearing somewhere that every cigarette is 7 minutes off your life. Look at you go! Saving 35 minutes of your life. I’m so proud of you.” When in reality, I smoke them just as fast as I’d smoke a 25 pack and end up having to go to the store sooner. But usually I can’t, cause I’m a drunken vagrant, so inevitably, I beg someone around me for one. Which CONVENIENTLY leads me into numero dos.
Smoking OP’s. My favourite adopted father in the entire world – Marty – was the first person to enlighten me to this pervasively annoying habit. An acronym for ‘other peoples’ smokes, it’s a great way to express your denial AND your cheapness. Sometimes I get on these kicks of refusing to buy cigarettes, because I know the second I have them in my hand I’ll chain smoke every last one of them like Don Draper. But usually that fails miserably because the second I get like, 0.0001 oz. of liquor in me, I’ll suddenly be fiending like a junkie on day 2 of withdrawal.
NUMERO TRES: Buying bitch sticks/flavoured tobacco. If you’re unfamiliar with said bitch-stick, it’s a delightful, really skinny, can’t-get-a-drag-off-of-it to save your life, type of cigarette. When I first started smoking more full time, I adopted bitch sticks as some kind of desperate in-between, between not smoking at all and smoking your standard cigarette. Somehow it made me feel better that I was smoking something that CLEARLY has like half the tobacco so it wasn’t as bad for me right? Well, I ended up just smoking twice the amount, cause I have no impulse control. Same thing with flavoured tobacco like menthols and cigarillos (single serving, mini cigar things that come in flavours anywhere from grape to peach. Just awful, IMHO.) I hit the double header and smoked menthol super-slims, because I’m an asshole like that.
Look at how cute super-slims are, you’d have to smoke them for cuteness alone.
Numero quatro: (Why am I doing this Spanish thing?) Claiming that you only smoke when you drink. This is one of my favourite ones for this reason: because you’re basically saying, “On a normal day, I’m a good person with no vices, but when I do decide to engage in a few drinks, there’s no better time to entertain ALL my other vices. Because I do them all at once, it isn’t really as bad, right?” Then you wake up the next morning and your mouth tastes like you ate an ashtray for a midnight snack. Just because you decide to smoke like a chimney when you’re wasted and already making bad decisions doesn’t mean that you’re not a smoker, it just means that you’re like me, you’re a smoker that’s in severe denial.
This also goes hand in hand with getting all flustered at the doctors office when he/she asks you if you smoke. Whenever my doctor asks me if I smoke I immediately go bright red, stutter and get all awkward because I can’t seem to find the right words, so that he won’t judge me with his evil, judging doctor eyes. So it usually goes like this:
“Do you smoke?”
“Uhh, no. Well, yes, kind of. It depends. If I’ve had a few drinks, I’ll have a couple (more like 500), usually during the week I don’t smoke before 4 pm. Depends what cycle the moon is in, if I’m on my period. Sometimes I go a few weeks at a time without smoking. Uh, I’m not really sure. Don’t judge me.“
So the moral of the story is this: We all know you smoke. There’s no time for shame, you do you, gurr.