I left my cigarettes at home this morning. In the midst of a spitting up baby, a tired five year old and too many other things to remember, I left my freshly opened pack sitting on the kitchen counter. Under the normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be a problem – I could just run to the gas station or CVS and pick up another pack. But, no, I have to be a tobacco snob and smoke something that I can’t seem to find just around the corner.

The first time I tried a cigarette, I was in middle school. My friend Rosie (now an upstanding member of the community) and I had the brilliant idea to steal her mom’s cartons of cigarettes and sell them to high school kids. We were quite entrepreneurial 6^th graders. We made just enough to buy every last candy cigarette off the ice cream truck. I’m fairly certain they were Marlboro Ultra Lights. Gross! No wonder it took me several more years to start up again.

It was the early end of high school and my boyfriend at the time – the older and wiser type – introduced me to something fun. Herbal cigarettes. Coming from a family that had never even touched a cigarette, I felt unsure in my love of all things tobacco, so I took baby steps. Ecstacy cigarettes – no, not like the drug. They came in a cute little box with a green butterfly on the front and filled with what I was assured were just tasty herbs and spices. They couldn’t possibly hurt me.

Being the curious and experimental person that I am – I tried every brand I could get my hands on, as long as they said “herbal” on the box.  And, then, one day – I finally gave into temptation and bought a pack in a shiny gold box – Vanilla Dreams. It was a real cigarette, but it still had a youthful innocence about it. Within the Dreams brand, I had vanilla, chocolate, pink, turquoise and all sorts of kid-friendly cigarettes to enjoy.

When I moved to Austin for college and wanted to appear more mature, I bought a long black lacquered cigarette holder studded in rhinestones, a cigarette case the shape of a coffin and American Spirits. American Spirits finally felt like I was smoking “real” cigarettes. But after a year, I found myself slumming it, going to Basics to fulfill my 2 pack a day needs. And then, finally, rolling my own.

When I moved back to Dallas, I left smoking behind. For a whole six months, I didn’t even start to crave them. I had stopped all my bad habits cold turkey.

But, one day, there it was again, rearing its ugly head. I began working right next door to a gas station that specialized in unique cigarettes. That is where I began my great and glorious love affair with Dunhill. While I occasionally was unfaithful with a pack of Camel Twists (that citrus flavored limited edition), I had found my perfect tobacco match.

But, as all great love affairs go, it was doomed to end. I changed jobs and stopped smoking as much. I found myself in a bitter rebound relationship with Marlboro. Then, with my ex-husband – it was easier to switch to his brand – Marlboro Menthol Lights. Yes, you heard me – both menthol and lights. The horror!

When my oldest son was born – with a terrible nicotine allergy – I quit cold turkey. I didn’t even think about picking up a cigarette for five years. When I met my husband, he quit too. Then, it happened – the allergy seemed to be gone. Over a year went by without any incidents, despite being inextricably placed in smoking environments on occasion. And, so my resolve crumbled.

With all the incoming stress at home in the last couple weeks, the choice was taken out of my hands and replaced with my old, dear friend Dunhill. The package may have changed slightly, but the love is still there. Now, my lonely red and silver pack sits on the kitchen counter, almost an hour away from me. And, the closest place that sells them is almost as far. I guess it’s for the best – especially since I’ve been openly flouting my campus’ ‘no-smoking anywhere on our property including parking lots’ rule lately.

Despite all these years of smoking though, I still feel like that little kid, awkwardly holding it and making a huge effort to look cool while gagging on the inhaled smoke.  Perhaps I should just stick to cigars.