Wait, what.

I’ve probably smoked a pack of cigarettes over the course of my entire life, but during the 4 days I was in Las Vegas, I bought three packs. Why? I don’t know! I don’t know! Partly because they were only 5 dollars, partly because I DON’T KNOW.

When I was boarding the plane, I still had 4 ‘rettes (that’s what really cool people call them, right?) left, so I brought them home with me, because I am very fiscally responsible. Waste not, want not, slipknot… or something. 

So over two days I had those 4 ‘reTTez, with my hand out the window, praying no one would see me because I am not a smoker, and part of the reason I am not a smoker is because I don’t want to deal with the reaction people have when they first see me smoke a ‘rettey-vettey. I can see it now, “when did ya staht smokin’?!”, “I didn’t know ya smoked!” and ugh, I just want to die when people react to anything I do.

But the thing is.

The thing is.

The thing is I almost bought a pack today. I came very close. Twice. Because you guys? You guys? Cigarettes are so disappointingly great. Like, they’re great and it makes me so sad. 

Also, and this may be ignorant of me, but I’ve decided that nothing that feels so great can be so bad for you. Pretty sure they don’t cause cancer. 

Children of the world, smoke! It’s fine! They’re so great that there’s no way they cause cancer! They probably cure cancer! Tell Mom and Dad that Caragh told you so!