Don't hate me because I'm potentially cancerous

They say that once you've quit smoking -- and during the attempt too, I imagine -- you will suffer from psychological and physical withdrawal symptoms. And honestly, although I expect them to be torturous in their own right, those side-effects are, for the moment, the least of my concerns.

You know what I'm really going to miss? The smug fulfillment that only comes from staring into the face of a non-smoker, one who has inexplicably paused to give you a snotty, disapproving look as you take a drag from your king-sized du Maurier, and blowing a rich, white billow of smoke right in his eye.

Even better is the complete feeling of contented contempt you throw back in the face of someone who, beyond rational thought, despite the fact that you were already smoking a butt on the patio of your local watering hole on a sunshiny May afternoon, sits down at the table adjacent and, dripping snide, asks if you can put out your smoke. "No," you say with a venomous grin. "Could you take your screaming infant to a more appropriate locale? You know, like home. Or Antarctica."

Saying good-bye to all that, well, that's going to be tough.