Where There’s No Smoke But Still Fire

I haven’t had a cigarette in 14 days.

The secret of my success so far?

Complete and utter denial. Cigarette? What cigarette? What in the world are you talking about?

Never heard of the things.

So far, this has worked for me. My ability to compartmentalize my world is one of my greatest assets.

It’s been pretty easy, but then again I’ve only been drunk – or as I prefer to think of it, mostly drunk – twice in the last 14 days.

And tonight is the Area 52 Halloween Party.

How tough could it be?

You know what’s wrong with quitting cigarettes, though? Aside from the dearth of cigarettes, of course?

There’s not enough fanfare.

Where’s the brass band? The public acclaim?!

Where’s the confetti?!

Hey. I don’t want much, maybe a cake, a parade, a banner, Shriners riding in formation in tiny cars, possibly a call from the President.

Oh. And some sort of award ceremony, preferably on TV.

That’s right. I quit smoking, for my own benefit, and rather than sucking it up, keeping my mouth shut and just doing what needs to be done because it needs to be done, I want acclaim.

Look. I know that I should be satisfied with the fact that I’m saving money, that I don’t cough at night anymore, that I no longer smoke myself sick at parties and wake up stinking and swearing I’ll never have another.

I know that. I did it for my own good.

Still.

There should be a cake.