Several years ago, Sally and I were driving to a Christmas
family event. On the way, we passed a car with a man driving and a woman in the
passenger seat. They both looked like they were in their sixties and, we
assumed, had been married for forty years. It was cold out and their windows were
rolled up. As we passed, we both couldn’t help by notice that the man was
smoking a big ‘ole cigar and that the car was filled with thick smoke.
Both Sally and I both felt sorry for that poor woman. Who
knows how many years she had to live with that cigar smoke? How many times had
she pleaded with him to at least crack the window, Harold? Is that abuse? On
the day of his funeral, will she throw all his cigars in the grave and yell, “Take
these with you to hell and smoke them!”
A few minutes later, we were stopped at a traffic light. The
same car pulled up next to us. It was still filled with smoke and we got a good
look at the poor woman and the swirling fog of obnoxious cigar…
…the woman lifted her hand to her mouth. She also held a
cigar.
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