No Smoking

June 30, 1998: While enjoying Big Bad Voodoo Daddy at the Quest club in Minneapolis, I turned to my sister over a Rolling Rock and said, "I'm not going to smoke after tonight." As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I lit up.

"Okay," she said, obviously doubtful.

I was 32 years old. I'd been smoking since I was seventeen, taking off about ten months in 1986 and 1987 while pregnant with my oldest. It didn't take me long to pick up the habit again after she was born. I smoked for the better part of fifteen years.

I decided I didn't want to anymore.

Before we hit the Quest, we'd been at another downtown bar, where I bought a pack of Marlboro Menthol Lights from a machine. I only had half a pack left, and I knew I'd run out of cigarettes before the night was through.

I was wrong. The cigarette I smoked after making the announcement to my sister was the last one. I never opened that new pack of Marlboros, though the box sat in my glove box for nearly six months.

Seven years smoke free. Feels pretty damn good!