Wednesday April 27, 2005

Excuse You for Living? I Don’t Think So.

As you can tell from my handy counter, I will pass the 500th-unsmoked-cigarette-mark some time tomorrow, and let me tell you, I can really feel the effects. Sure, there’s the easier breathing, the freedom from chemical dependency and all that money I’ve saved, but what I’m really enjoying is the rapidly accumulating urge to be a complete prick to my former comrades, the smokers.

I can hardly wait to get off work today so I can hassle the remaining puffers in Park Slope—if there are any—while they totally try to be polite and mind their own business. Unfortunately for them, there will be no place far enough away from me for them to light up in peace. When I see them, I will cough theatrically. I will wave my hands in front of my nose. I will cover my mouth with balls of tissues. I will shield the eyes of children, and mumble (very loudly) about how Bloomberg should ban smoking in every last rat-infested square yard of this God forsaken city and beyond.

No doubt some of my former colleagues will be stung—especially since I myself smoked for 18 years and smoked a cigarette as recently as 13 days ago. Ah, but that was a week ago Friday, my weak-willed friends, and now it’s two Wednesdays later. I am over the wall, fiends, and it’s on, baby—it is on!