Robyn Wilder’s description of being an ex-smoker is perfect.
I am a retired cigarette enthusiast, which brings with it the following woes:
- Getting up from my desk at the end of the day and all my joints cracking at once because cigarette breaks are the only breaks I know
- Dreaming that I had a cigarette, and waking up all a-panic
- A sudden passion for biscuits
- Having to ransack the house for a lighter when I want to light a candle
- Unquenchable Haribo Tangfastic addiction
- The three seconds between me telling a smoker I don’t smoke anymore, and them inevitably telling me about all the times they’ve tried to give up
- Those awkward silences at the pub that you can’t break by just fucking off outside for a cigarette
- The fact that my risk of emphysema and various cancers is only slightly reduced. Slightly reduced? Are you kidding me? I have a pot belly now
- Social acceptance from smug, evangelical ex-smokers.