No Smoking

I am one of those annoying people who feels like there should be no smoking anywhere but your house. Yet, when I was in my early twenties I tried to take up smoking. My logic was that if everyone I knew who tried to quit lost ten pounds,  by starting I would lose ten pounds. This was back when ten pounds would have made a big difference on me. There were many more sensible things I could have tried, but I was already doing a lot of walking (I lived in NYC where everyone walks a lot) I swam every single day, sometimes twice a day, and had a pretty physical job, so taking up cigarettes seemed reasonable.

I bought a pack of cigarettes and installed it in my purse. The first day I got out my pack of  and smacked it against my palm as I’d seen smokers do countless times (back in the 80s you could still smoke almost everywhere) feeling oh-so-cool, and unwrapped the box. So far so good I thought, I shook out the pack and managed to extricate one without dropping any, and slid it between my lips. I (still) love the smell a cigarette produces the first moment it’s lit, so I was looking forward to effecting this whenever I wanted. Smoking was going to be great. I lit the cigarette clumsily and inhaled as shallowly as I could.

This wasn’t my first cigarette, I’d done the usual trying it out in high school, and ended up coughing and clutching my throat like most everyone does on their first try. I often wondered, given that terrible experience why anyone would keep at it, but I had found an incentive to move through the pain, this was going to make me thin. As I puffed away, despite my choice of menthol cigarettes, I got the most awful taste in my mouth, and of course was coughing madly between inhales. I walked along holding my cigarette gracefully between my fingers, and acting as nonchalant as possible. I was aware I bore no resemblance to Lauren Bacall, but that was the look I was going for, which is kind of hilarious. I am possibly the least Bacall-like woman I know.

My experiment was a total failure. I’d look in my purse for something; a subway token or my keys, and there, mocking me was that pack of cigarettes. I think I managed to smoke about four of them, before giving up, but I was optimistic, so I kept them in my bag for a while. Slowly they stated to disintegrate, and everything inside my purse was covered with shreds of tobacco. Eventually I conceded defeat and cleaned out my bag, though the odor of tobacco lingered. And those ten pounds, well, over time I lost and regained them many times, each time gaining a few more than I’d lost, and my weight loss goals grew from ten to thirty and more, much more.

I am clearly not cut out to be a smoker. I’m not cool or glamorous, and if it’s not going to help me lose weight or be more like Lauren Bacall, I don’t see the point. I used to know many smokers, but now I can hardly think of any. I dislike being around cigarette smoke, especially in a car where it makes me feel sick. I’m glad my attempt to become a smoker didn’t pan out, from what I’ve heard kicking nicotine is one of the hardest addictions to break. I wish I had a photograph of me with a cigarette in my mouth to share, you would laugh hysterically!