L'esprit de l'escalier

It's all about the timing.

Location: Memphis, Tennessee, United States

I'd rather be somewhere else most of the time and I'm a huge practitioner of staircase wit.


Got a light?

My sweet husband is trying to quit smoking. He’s been a smoker since he was probably still in high school or just beginning college. This was about 15 years ago. He’s not coughing up blood yet or anything, but I’ve been increasingly concerned about this habit of his and thankfully, so has he. Since we started dating, he’s made it clear that he WILL quit in time, as soon as he's ready. I’ve learned that there’s no coaxing that monumental moment, however. I just have to sit tight and support whatever whim he decides to catch and go with it. I may not know first hand how difficult kicking this addiction can be, but I believe he has whatever it takes within him somewhere. He’s a strong man, an incredibly determined soul when he wants to be. I just hope he wants this bad enough.

It won’t be easy going, though. He’s pretty temperamental as it is. All he needs, to send him through the roof, is some un-relievable stress. But I’m strong, too, dammit. I can take whatever shit he wants to give me. Yes, I love him that much.

So, yesterday morning we woke up and planned our day - racquetball, movies, Rosita’s Mexican restaurant and drinks. I made some pancakes, we ate our vitamins and he had his morning cigarette. He announced to me very ceremoniously, this would be his last one. He was quitting. I told him to enjoy it. He decided there was no longer an excuse to continue. He quit his job where for the past year, he's been working with a bunch of smokers; I envision packs of winged, glorious cigarettes flying around the workplace all day and all night. Who could blame him? Alcoholics don’t remain bartenders for a reason.

The movie we went to see was Constantine. The first scene, where Keanu Reaves lights up and walks in the girls house to excorsize her, he leans over and says, "I picked a bad day to quit smoking." I wanted a cigarette when that movie was over, never mind the blood spitting and the black lungs, and I don't even smoke. It was akin to going to see Coffee & Cigarettes while trying to quit cold turkey (a MUCH better movie to spend your money on, by the way). So, on the way to the restaurant, David warned me. He said he was feeling anxious, antsy and thought it would be a good idea for me to just be mindful of the needles. I can respect that so I kept my mouth shut, for the most part. Dinner went well, with the help of a couple Negra Modelo’s. On the way home is when things got difficult. I wanted to stop for a box of Nicoderm patches and wine, he wanted to be dropped off at home so he could go ahead and have one more smoke. It was too late for the patch, he said, he needed a cigarette. One. Last. Cigarette. I tried to be convincing and sneaky, I tried to get him to just hold tight and come to the store with me. At the light where I should’ve turned to go to our apartment, but was heading straight instead, he saw I was holding him hostage and opened the car door right there at the light and walked home. I went on the store for the stuff and when I came home he was sitting on the step. I was a little nervous, considering his state of mind at the light. Apparently he forgot about the key we hid above the door. But the walk did him good and he felt much better. He did smoke that last cigarette, but his belly hurt from it and he followed it up with his first patch.

Good luck, baby.


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