It must suck to be a smoker. Not only does popular culture allow people to hate you just for smoking, but friends and family can now force you outside to indulge in the nasty habit. I haven't thought about this much since Alaska, where clusters of parka-wearing smokers stand in sub-freezing weather to get their nicotine fixes (significantly increasing their chances of being taken by a polar bear, I might add).
I should feel sorry for them, but when the weather's warm in Portland, I like keeping my windows open when I'm at home. Now and then the breeze brings in foul wafts of smoke, probably from someone trying to be courteous by smoking outside. My reaction is similar to that of a person who has stomped out the flaming bag on their porch (At least it doesn't ruin my shoes.) I suppose the best thing would be to find the culprit, but get a neighborly agreement for them to either relocate or give me warning so I can close my windows, rather than spraying them with mint.* Or leaving them a flaming bag of their own. Because it's bad enough to be a smoker, let alone one with shoes that never smell right again. *Supposedly a strong mint smell can induce nausea in smokers, which would be fair, since that's often what happens to me when exposed to cigarette smoke. They, however, might not respect the justice of the exchange. Current Mood: nauseated