I have a little problem. And it comes in a red can.
It’s not a problem, I suppose. But maybe that’s what all addicts say.
My grandmother, who smoked cigarettes for the better part of 40 years, used to say it was the only bad thing she ever did. A life-long Southern Baptist who never had a drink of alcohol in her life, she justified her smoking through one open-heart surgery, then another nearly 20 years later. It was only after that valve replacement that she gave up her cigarettes. While she was in the hospital, chest cracked wide, I dumped the last few cigarettes from her only remaining pack into the toilet. I’d wanted to do that for 15 years.