To a certain extent that was because I did not trust my co-workers to do what needed to be done while I was away, nor touch what they should not touch during that same time.
Yeah, both times my operational-paranoia was vindicated.
Shan't blame them, as I would've done the same.
Touch! Touch! Touch! Touch! Touch!
The person with whom I share an apartment is right to be somewhat suspicious of me being on all my own in the house when she's at work. Several weeks ago she complained that I smoked too much, all her clothes smelled like tobacco.
I had lapsed, you see.
I left the kitchen door open too often.
The long-standing arrangement is that I smoke either in the kitchen, OR the crapper. In both cases behind a closed door, with the window open. That way neither her garments, nor her stuffed animals, will end up smelling like a forest-fire.
Fine. Good. Can do.
While she's gone during the day I smoke all over the place. My room. The teevee room. The kitchen, bathroom, and hallway.
I've closed her door. Took the coat off the handle, and snecked it firmly shut. Opened the bathroom window all the way, left the kitchen window wide open, and kept the doors between both areas and the rest of the apartment agape for total ventilation. It's not cold enough yet that the fresh air is a issue.
When the weather becomes more frigid, I may have a problem.
I do NOT look forward to spending time on the front steps of our building freezing my delicate posterior off. I may have to come over to your place to fume.
Do you have relatives who smoke?
If so, nobody will even notice I'm there.
Pipe tobacco stinks FAR less than cigarettes.
Especially the Escudo I'm smoking right now.
Trust me, you will probably like it.
Get to know a pipe smoker.
It's an opportunity!
Charming, debonair, and sophisticated.
In a trans-Atlantic sort of way.
Anyway, I make sure that there is an interval of several hours between when I stop smoking in the house and when I re-open the door to her room.
Also, at some point between the last smoke and my apartment mate returning, I boil up some extremely strong tea in the kitchen, so that the haunting fragrance of fine tobacco is excorcised, and the exchange between cleansing tea-steam inside and fresh natural car-exhaust slash standard urban funk from outside takes care of the rest.
Might even burn some snow-pear incense.
A moth-ball hidden in a corner works wonders too.
The cup of tea is a three-bagger reduced considerably. Two thirds black, one third jasmine. With milk and sugar, it is exceptionally re-invigorating.
Dang this place smells good!
I'm zipped to the eye-brows.
Seriously, invite me over when it gets colder.
I'm good company, and rather likeable.
A dab hand at making milk-tea!
Your choice of aged Virginias or English blends.
Occasional witticisms in Dutch are included.
Think of it as part of your education.
There's nothing quite like it.
TOBACCO INDEX
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2 comments:
Travailles de un fumeur secret!
Update. It's been rather frigid in the two weeks since new year.
Key word: Rainaud's Syndrome.
The tea has changed from two thirds black and one third jasmine to 2/3 jasmine, 1/3 black.
I'm now exceptionally alert.
More so than before.
Odd.
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