Dear Ones,
This is my favorite time of the year, except when I start to sniff the scent of burning leaves, which reminds me of how much I miss smoking.
Yeah, I quit my three pack a day habit, because I ran out of places I could actually light up without being harassed, booed, tormented, or mugged.
Smoking was fun, it was cool, and it gave me something to do with my expressive hands.
It felt so chic and sexy to place a filter-tip between my lips and have some suave gentleman or ruddy faced sailor whip out a lighter and share his flame.
I began smoking in the third grade, which explains where I spent all my lunch money. I smoked during all seven of my pregnancies. I even smoked during the deliveries, and all of my kids turned out o.k. I think.
Our little trailer was always filled with laughter, music, and smoke. Tumble Willis, Jr., my husband, never knew the color of the livingroom walls. He assumed they were smoky dingy, if such a color exist.
Of course my love of the ciggy is nothin' compared to my best gal pal, FiFi Krampschlitz.
FiFi loved smoking so much that she named all of her kids after her favorite brands. Yeah, there was WINSTON, KOOLS, MARLBORO, CHESTERFIELD, and her little girl, VIRGINIA SLIM.
I've been told that FiFi plans to come to my annual Halloween Tupperwear Party this year as a car muffler. Anything for a smoke.
Speaking of fumes, my less than scentillating boss, Kenny, did a doodle of BARACK OBAMA, for the WSJ. I know for a fact that Obama is a closet smoker.
Your favorite ash kisser, I remain,
TRIXIE
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