Nobody Likes Smoke

We recently visited Paris for our belated honeymoon.  Paris is breathtaking! If you never visited a single museum you would feel absolutely stunned by the incredible architecture and its wonderful inhabitants.

The people in Paris are quite refined.  Their children eat with their knife in the right hand and their fork in the left--at four. They say please and thank you.  Hundreds of years of living literally stacked on top of one another has left them quite refined in their behaviors.

BUT, they smoke.  A lot of them smoke.  Some restaurants allow smoking inside.  On sunny days the cafes are jammed on the terrace with folks elbow to elbow--smoking. It was gross. They have this incredible etiquette but will blow smoke in your face or hold their cigarette away from themselves over your table.  It was horrible.  I began to dread going out because of the heinous smoke. What a disconnect!

It got me thinking about my life.  I am almost 40 (Yay!) and I have worked hard on myself to refine my rough edges.  I consider my habitation of self looking pretty good; my streets are clean, my buildings are lovely, I have museums and cafes.

But what about my smoking? Am I holding my cigarette in someone else's face? The Parisians don't even see it and maybe I don't either.

So my latest charge to you readers: Be brave enough to ask your friends about your smoke. Ask them to be frank and then do something about it!  This isn't a fun assignment, like gathering jars of sunshine, but a worthy one. After all, nobody likes smoke.