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I smoke a pipe a few times a month, and an occasional cigar, maybe three or four a year. Don’t inhale either, that would be insanity, IMO.

I always tell the story about a road trip I took about seven years ago. I had a huge amount of vacation saved up, and my wife was working a job with only a couple of weeks, so I had to use some vacation time or I was going to lose it, so with her blessing and generous permission to use “house money”...I went on a week long road trip with no destination and no reservations.

How great is that?

Anyway, my first stop was at a cigar store right off the highway in Pennsylvania. I saw the sign from the highway, and had immediate visions of seeing America with the windows rolled down, elbow sticking out the window, music blaring, no destination, and...a big cigar in my mouth!

I don’t know much about cigars, so when I went in, I explained that I don’t know much about cigars, I wanted to buy about ten of them, not too expensive, and not too strong.

The person rounded up a bunch of cigars, threw them into a bag with a cigar cutter and some boxes of matches, I paid my money and walked out into the bright noonday sun.

My car was parked right near a terrace that had a lot of people sitting on it, enjoying their cigars, basking in the sun.

Before I got in the car, I chose a cigar from my bag, snipped off the end, stuck it in my mouth, and looking suave and debonair, cupped my hand and started flaming up the cigar. I was probably thinking how cool I looked to all those people up there.

As the cigar began to glow, the box of matches popped straight up out of my hand, and little wooden matchsticks created a man-made blizzard in front of my face.

Now, I am not foolish enough to inhale cigar smoke. But I had a mouthful of it, preparing to stylishly exhale it in a cloud to complete the effect, when the matchsticks launched from my hand.

I involuntarily inhaled in a gasp of surprise.

Next thing I knew, I was bent at a 90 degree angle at my waist, face turned towards the ground, cigars and matchsticks arrayed on my ground in my field of view, coughing as if both lungs were determined to exit my body and sever the surly bonds of attachment to my physical being.

I think I turned a dark forest green color.

I can only imagine the amusement those folks above must have enjoyed watching that spectacle.

I shoved all the cigars in my glove compartment. For the rest of the trip, every time I opened it for anything, the cigars stared accusingly at me, as if I was punishing them by confining them in there instead of letting them bless America with their smoke.

I didn’t smoke another cigar until about six months later...