Smoking... is bad for you...
Smoking is bad for you.
Right after I make this statement, people always do one of the following things
-Stare at me pointedly
-Launch into a lecture that makes me regret making that simple factual sentence.
-Swallow hard and try not to launch into a lecture, but do so anyway.
-Shake their heads in a puzzled sort of way that reminds me of my dog on holiday mornings when I’m awake before lunch.
The first three I ignore, the last I giggle at.
I’ve tried to explain the whole situation too many times.
Yes, I know its bad for me.
No, I don’t want to be coughing up blood at 25.
And maybe it will kill me.
But look at it this way.
What if, at 24 years and 364 days, I get run over by a bus, fall off the roof, get struck by lightning, drown or get abducted by aliens and used as a case study for a research paper on Homo sapiens? All of these, being equally likely, except maybe the last one. (But then again, you never know…)
How, do you think, that would make me feel? Pointless question, if I use the assumption that dead people don’t feel, but nonetheless… How do you think I would feel?
I shall tell you. I would feel clean, healthy, and my lungs would not be screaming in agony… but most importantly, I would feel dead! And once you feel that, well, let’s just say none of the other things seem to matter much anymore.
Of course, I am not denying that it is equally likely that I do live to see my 25th b’day. But if I do, I’ll think of something then…
Till then, do me a favour and do the puzzled-head-shake thing again… I miss my dog.
