The Smoking Tub

I started smoking cigarettes regularly when I was 16.  I was good at hiding it, for the most part.  I would run errands for my parents, and while out, I would take long drives out in the boonies, which is basically where we lived anyways.  Just me and my Camel Lights, on the back country roads.

I finally mustered up the courage to come out to my parents my freshman year of college.  I was home for fall break, and left the pack of Marlboro Lights (the new college brand) on the kitchen table.  I figured, since I was no longer living under their roof, there wasn't much they could say.  I could not have been more wrong.  They both managed to fit the subject into every phone conversation.

I kept promising my parents and myself I would quit smoking.  When I graduate from college.  When I get a grown-up job.  When I get married.  I was lying to myself for so long that I believed what I was saying.  I decided that if I didn’t quit before I got married, when would I?  Nothing says “blushing bride” like a girl smoking a Parliament Light in her wedding dress.

Day one started early when the alarm went off at 6:30am.  Before I could open my eyes, I felt a smack on my upper arm.  That damn “patch”.  Dave wanted me to quit as much as anyone.  “You can do it, Mery.”  What did he know?  He is the type of person who can smoke a pack of cigarettes in one night, then not have another drag for 2 years.  I was already grumpy and my feet hadn’t hit the floor yet.

The first couple weeks were really rough.  I would survive the day smoke-free, all the while putting everything into my mouth that wasn’t nailed down.  Not the brightest technique when the wedding dress is already paid for and altered.  I had 4 months until Dave and I were bonded for life.  At this rate, I was going to have to buy a second dress in the same size and sew them together.  I also neglected to mention that Dave was on the Atkins diet so while I was blowing up, he was melting away.  The stress of it all was really getting to me.

One warm September evening I was upstairs in our bathroom when Dave came home from work.  I could hear him walking up the creaky wooden steps of our duplex apartment.  Suddenly there was a knock at the bathroom door and he said, “Mery?”  I answered, “Yes?”  Dave paused.  “What are you doing in there?” 

OK, this is the part that may offend some.  From my perspective, as well as Dave’s, when you have been with a person for so many years, there are very few secrets.  Even less shame.  There is never a closed door in our house, unless we have company. 

“What are you doing in there?  Why is the door closed?”  I giggled and answered, “What do you think I am doing?  I am going to the bathroom!”  He opened the door just a smidgen to discover I was not on the toilet.  “Where are you?”  I said nothing.  Dave walked into the bathroom and pulled back the shower curtain.  There I was, a can of Glade air freshener in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, standing by the open window, in our bathtub.

“What are you, 15?”  Dave asked as he was trying not to crack a smile.  “What is the matter with you?”  I didn’t know what was wrong with me.  I had hit a new low.  Humiliated and humbled, I stepped out of the tub.  My fiancé was now full out laughing at me. 

I confessed.  I had been smoking again for almost 2 weeks.  I had quit for 6 weeks or more, but cracked under the pressure.   Fortunately, I managed to fit into my wedding dress.  Unfortunately, I was smoking again.  I just needed to get through the wedding, then I would quit…about 6 more times.

This May Sting a Little

Being married to Dave means I have to put up with all of his flaws.  I would never admit it to him, but I think he has to put up with a lot more than I do.    I am not the easiest person to cohabitate and share a life with.  Most of the time I have good intentions, but they don’t always turn out well.

I decided to take a whole week off from work to redo both of our sons’ bedrooms.   I thought this would give me plenty of time to accomplish my goals, while being able to take a 2 hour nap every day.  It was time off, after all.  I did the taping and most of the painting, and Dave helped with the more mechanical issues, like light fixtures and electrical sockets.  One room’s outlets were fine, but Zach’s room needed new outlets to match the rest of his room.  We went from dingy wheat color to bright white.

I was sure to get the room in tip top shape before calling in Contractor Dave.  I knew he would be critical of my work and didn’t want to hear how I got paint on the carpet, or missed a spot in the closet.  I picked up the tarps covering the floor and vacuumed the room.  He came into the room and said, “Wow, this looks really good.  You even did great work on the trim.”  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to paint a few walls, but I graciously accepted his accolades. 

It was now his turn to contribute to the project.  I was his lovely assistant.  I got to unscrew all the face plates while he removed the new outlets from their packaging.  Meaning, I was moving about the room removing 23 year old face plates while he was stationary opening plastic bags.   

Zach’s window is on the back of the house right above the circuit breaker box.  Dave went downstairs to turn of the circuit in Zach’s room, and my job was to tell him when it was off.  Easy enough.  I left the vacuum plugged into one of the outlets and after a few switches, it powered down.  I yelled to Dave and he returned to the second floor.

I was sitting next to him on the carpet when he went in to detach the first outlet with his trusty flathead screwdriver.  As he went in for his surgical outlectomy, the screwdriver touched a wire and ZZZZZZAP!   Dave had just been charged like a battery.  “What the FUDGE, Mery??  Are you trying to kill me?”  For those of you who know Dave, you know he did NOT use the word “fudge.”   I was stunned…and laughing, “I’m sorry!  The vacuum is still off and plugged into the other wall!” 

So, what are the odds that there would be two circuits for one bedroom?  I turned my head to see the light in Zach’s closet was still on!  Oops.  I just kept laughing, because that’s what I do when I get nervous.  I pointed to the closet which was less than 2 feet from us both.  The next 20 minutes was a lecture on the danger of electricity and how you need to “always check and recheck” before messing around with wires.  I said I was sorry, what more did he want?