I am not a smoker. Never in my life have I taken more than one puff of a cigarette. It's usually when I'm out with friends and one of them gets bold enough to shove the cigarette INTO my mouth without my consent. At which point I suck it up (pardon the pun) and take one for the team. It's happened maybe four times in my life.
However, every once in a while, as I'm walking through a room, or some other unexpected moment, I will sniff up the most delicious waft of cigarette smoke (fresh, of course) and my whole being becomes awashed in this glorious feeling that I can only describe as "home".
Is that not the weirdest thing? Actually it makes total sense to me. Although I think smoking is a filthy, nasty habit and it grosses me out completely, I will never judge a smoker. My dad has been a chain smoker for as long as I can remember. My childhood has been ingrained with memories of Marbolos and dangling ashes. Admittedly, one of my favorite memories is of driving in a smoky smelling burgundy station wagon, my dad smoking, tapping his middle finger on the dashboard to some old country tune. I hate the smell of smoke on me. But I still get that feeling every once in awhile when I take in a good fresh noseful of the stuff - it's euphoria, and knowing that it comes from the second hand smoke to me is the most interesting part.
And I guess in some twisted illogical way, I'm a nicotine addict. Who'd have thought?