Later I will smoke outside.
Let it air out.
I'm actually quite proud of myself. I didn't light my pipe till nearly four hours after she left, while finishing my second cup of coffee, when it was already well past midnight in India (Bangalore).
Or 4:50 AM in Hong Kong, 8:50 PM in England, 9:50 PM in Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, and Switzerland. I mention these places because other pipe smokers I knew live there. Many of whom would actually be drinking tea at this time. And smoking different tobaccos too, proving that we are all unique individuals despite our solitary habits and penchant for offending people (little old ladies, children, vegans, tobacco nazis, and easily triggered folk).
Samuel Gawith's Saint James Flake in a Charatan Selected (a canted Dublin shape, nearly a straight grain) that may be older than I am. The coffee is strong, slightly sweetened, and entirely lacking cardamom because I ran out.
Adrian in England is actually drinking Scotch whisky at this moment, while enjoying RDF (I think that means Regular Dunhill Flake, but I'm not sure). The last time I checked Markus in Germany was enjoying Capstan Flake and a big fat potato pancake, Phillip in Schweiz probably still smokes EMP, and likes listening to Bach.
The Netherlands, North Carolina, and Gainesville Florida veer wildly all across the map as far their preferences. And Pat V. in Chicago has not disclosed what's burning in his life.
[Correction: Adrian is smoking Rich Dark Flake by Germain.]
As you may deduce, my apartment mate does not smoke a pipe, and is somewhat opposed to my doing so. But she's a very fine person, with a sense of smell that is none too sharp, so if this place airs out for three or four hours after the last bowlfull indoors AND her teddy bear doesn't notice, all will be well with the world.
We are just apartment mates. We tolerate each others' peculiarities.
As well as the rambunctious stuffed animals here.
Who sometimes rule the apartment.
The coffee she's drinking these days is a "Holiday Blend" flavoured with cinnamon, which is rather ghastly. Americans and cinnamon are a weird thing. Must be a Pumpkin Spice fondness, which I've never understood.
There is also a pumpkin spice pipe tobacco.
Which is strictly for perverts.
The familial conditions or relationships of my fellow pipe smokers are largely opaque. A few of them are indeed in committed relationships, and many (possibly most of them) are male, but other than that I don't know much about their home lives. Some of them apparently have children.
Which is remarkable!
I may be the only one with stuffed animals.
Their pipe tobacco and literary preferences are far more interesting to me, and I sincerely value their opinions and flashes of wit and insight.
AFTER WORD
I have often thought that if I end up seeing someone again -- and please understand that this is a purely hypothetical construct involving an as yet to be located person who is younger than myself, of the female gender, and shorter -- she would have to have strong opinions, a profound sense of ethics, and very decent tastes. In other words someone who reads, and likes the fragrance of pipe tobaccos. NOT the aromatics.
Either Latakia blends or excellent Virginia flakes.
Fans of Starbucks "coffee" drinks are right out.
As is anyone who hates stuffed animals.
A mind is an absolute must.
Books and stuffed animals are probably the clinchers.
TOBACCO INDEX
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