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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