Dear smoking,

Dear smoking,

I love you. I love how you make me smell bad, which is OK because I have a boy who smells bad, too.

I love you. I love how fellow smokers give me the nod off appreciation and encouragement.

I love you. I love how I can be mean to people I don’t like by blowing smoke on then and blame it on ‘wind change’.

I love you. I love how you make me feel satisfied and happy 20 times a day by merely fulfilling an addiction need.

I love you. I love how you make me look ‘well hard’, cool and sexy.

I love you. I love how a burning cigarette can also be used as a weapon against all the really mean people in Camden.

I love you. I love how you make me friends through our common love of smoking.

I love you. I love how I spend more time outdoors because of you.

I love you. I love how you make me enemy through the simple act of having smouldering dried leaves touch my lips. It is way better than the days when doing something really bad would make me enemies!

I love you,
Munky