As a child, my father smoked a pipe. He did so because he could smoke a pipe inside and my mom wouldn’t complain. It did smell good. Little did I know that he was actually a cigarette smoker and he hid it from me for years. Until his mom’s funeral and then he hid it no more.
I love a good cigar. I love the smell of them. My soon to be ex took up cigar smoking. And I found myself loving the smell just as I had loved the smell of my dad’s pipe.
Ok, please put Bill Clinton out of your head.
A good cigar smells great. I took up the habit myself. Not too many women smoke cigars and I have to tell you, I was constantly even while married, hit on because of my cigar smoking (I’m sure it’s some sort of phallic thing there going on.)
When my oldest best friend decided to come down so we could celebrate out 40th birthdays together (we’re a little over a month apart) we sat in an Irish pub in uptown Charlotte and enjoyed a good cigar together. I have the photo on the wall.
Do I smoke cigars everyday? No. Do I smoke them once a month? No. But I smoke them on special occasions. And I’m not talking about the crap you buy from the quickie mart, like cigarellas, and all that flavored crap.
No, I good cigar is a Macanudo, a Cohiba. I don’t smoke them often, but on my deathbed, like George Burns, I will smoke a good cigar before I go.
