My husband has recently given up smoking. He told me he was going to give up smoking when he turned 40 and as he turned 50 a couple of months ago, it has taken him quite a while to throw that ‘last’ packet in the bin. As he likens it to cutting off an arm or a leg I suppose 10 years isn’t that much of a stretch.
He seems to be going well but I’m keeping a low profile and out of the way as he can go from being a happy little vegemite to an angry bigger troglodyte in 0.5 seconds. He certainly gives my so-called PMS a run for it’s money – and he wins the Golden Globe for grandiose dramatics on suffering withdrawals.
I’ve noticed my sweet treats going missing on a regular basis and empty ice cream wrappers turning up in the rubbish bin every other day. He came home yesterday sporting a red ring around his mouth but knowing his history – a jam doughnut trumps another woman. The former may kill him eventually. The latter and I would kill him immediately.
I’m starting to get a little worried about him as he is starting to look like the Goodyear blimp. I have bought healthy snacks for him to find around the house but he zeros in on the 100 percent fat content like a homing pigeon.
I’m hoping it is a phase and he wakes up one morning and actually looks into the mirror he is avoiding at present. It is only a matter of time before he either frightens himself into taking up smoking again or gets serious about getting healthy. I’m having an each-way bet.