I’ve written before how being around smokers doesn’t bother me. I also mentioned that, on occasion, I’ve smoked cigars and had a bad period of pipe smoking pretentiousness. Most of my early smoking, though, involved alcohol and,  not surprisingly, a woman was involved, too.

The first time I remember smoking cigarettes where I actually felt like I wanted a cigarette and not because it seemed like a cool teenage thing to do, was at university and I’d been drinking. For reasons I don’t understand, in addition to copious amounts of pizza and/or nachos, when I’ve been drinking I sometimes crave a cigarette. I only remember smoking one, but that probably meant I smoked two. I then didn’t smoke again for months until alcohol was again involved.

I also dated a smoker for a while, sort of (long story requiring a novel) and I’d smoke when she smoked (again usually after drinking which was, well, read the novel).

Somewhere in there I tried Swisher Sweets cigars which are really useful for making you really sick. Use them on your friends, not on yourself.

However, when I got to Albania, my friend Eddie introduced me to “proper” cigars and Cuban cigars. I started smoking those off and on, mostly when I could afford them, for a few years.

What I discovered was that no matter how smokey a room is, no matter how many people are smoking cigarettes, if you pull out a cigar, cigarette smokers will start going “P. U.” to which I usually respond, especially if I’ve been drinking, “F. U.” (which I think is a French abbreviation for “Silence Hypocrite!” No really. Look it up.) Even in Albania, if Eddie and I started smoking cigars in a bar with cigarette smoke so thick we could barely see each other, the bar owner would suddenly open the windows to let smoke out.

I also blame Eddie for convincing me to try pipes. (For the record: He looks cool smoking them. I look pretentious.)

Eventually I lost my grandfather and grandmother to smoking. I stopped smoking cigars soon after I got married, but I still had a few tucked away that, miraculously, didn’t get moldy, so I kept them for a special occasion.

Last year, though, I lost my dad. In fact, one year ago today. For some reason, I still kept the cigars. I threw them out today. Completely crushed them up. (Two Bolivars, a Romeo y Julieta, a Cohiba and a Punch Habana). It’s the only way I can honor him now. Also, since he was living in Louisiana when he died, I’m toasting him with a mint julep.