It is summer time and in the suburbs of D.C. when you step outside millions of little voices say "Yum!"
That's the mosquitoes who have been hanging around waiting to attack and snack. To sit on our porch without being drained dry, I light one of those mosquito coils, go back inside and let it smoke for a bit and then venture outside.
Yestereday after work I was on the porch when my husband came home. He got out of the car, walked up the stairs, stopped dead and gasped. "Oh, you scared me half to death!" he said.
What? What?
He saw the smoke from the coil and thought it was a you-know-what is what.
Now, I was going to blog about this about a month ago when he thought I was smoking while we were camping. (I forgot.) But that time he was close enough I could see his eyes and his face. He blanched, his pupils dialated.
I suppose I could get a little annoyed. I mean, just because I have smoked every single day he has known me (and that's well over 5,500 days), it is soooo meeeeeaaan for him to doubt I'm not going to start again. Boo hoo. :'-(
Maybe I would get annoyed, but we've both dated addicts so I understand that he's wary. But it is his reaction that also helps reinforce me. The thought of me smoking again doesn't annoy him, it scares him. (And this is not a guy who scares easily.)
And not just a little startled. The thought of me smoking again stops him dead and causes him to exhibit the signs of deep fear. The thought of me smoking again ... it must prey on his mind, right? And his reaction is just when he thinks I am smoking. I can't imagine what he'd do if I really was smoking, and I don't want to know and I never will know.
