What a drag! I mean literally, what a drag. The federal government has passed a 62-cent tax on every pack of cigarettes. That’s 3 cents per cigarette. And if you take, what, maybe 15 to 20 drags off each cigarette you’re paying dearly for each puff. I personally don’t smoke and never have, but I had planned on starting in the near future. My plan was to give up several other vices I have and consolidate them into one big vice. Kind of like a consolidation loan but with an interest rate of lung cancer.
Speaking of vices I’ve noticed that we don’t use that word as much when we describe our bad habits. I blame it on the softening of society. And I don’t mean in a good way. Instead of the word vice we use the words “guilty pleasure” to describe when we do something we shouldn’t. It’s got the word guilty in there so we know we’re supposed to feel bad about it but it also has the word pleasure in there so we don’t dwell on the guilt part too much.
One of my guilty pleasures is a ... What I mean to say is I have this friend, yes, that’s it, a friend whose guilty pleasure is my night ... I mean his nightly snack. I enjoy a big ... Excuse me ... he enjoys a nice big bowl of vanilla ice cream swimming in Hershey’s chocolate and topped with M&M’s. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays I go with ... he goes with peanut M&M’s and on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays it’s the plain variety. On Sundays he takes the night off from ice cream and just eats some raw cookie dough. After all, nobody wants to overdo a good thing.
My wife’s newest guilty pleasure is some new reading series called “Twilight.” I have no idea of what it’s about but from her description it sounds like what would happen if Beverly Hills 90210 and Count Dracula had a baby. I think it must be some type of romance novel. I learned my lesson years ago with romance novels. My older cousin was always reading one of those what they call “Harlequin” romance novels. If you don’t know what I’m talking about it’s the books that have Fabio on the front cover standing on the ledge of a cliff with no shirt on and a beautiful woman laying down at his feet and reaching up to him with a yearning look on her face. Whew, I had to catch my breath. That was a long sentence.
Anyway, she was reading one of those books and it was laid out on a coffee table. I picked it up and turned to a random page and started reading. Needless to say I was exposed to some words and ideas I had never known before. My retinas were burned, and I couldn’t see clearly for a couple of hours. I’ve never discussed it with a psychiatrist but this could have been the reason I’ve never been able to have a healthy relationship with a woman. My gracious, the ideas those books can put in your head.
My oldest son’s guilty pleasure has to be American Idol. He can sit and watch that for hours. In fact, when he’s not home, he makes sure it gets recorded. Heaven forbid, he should miss out on glorified karaoke. But in his defense there are only a few million people around the country who tune in every week to watch with him. And even though I don’t watch the show I do remember jumping on my bed and singing along with my 45s of Donny Osmond’s “Puppy Love” and Glen Campbell’s “Rhinestone Cowboy.” For those of you who don’t know what a 45 is, think of something a little larger than a CD but with only one song per side.
But those days are gone. The last time I stood up on my bed I forgot we had a ceiling fan and had to have 14 stitches across my forehead. I do like to sing when I get out of the shower though. I suppose that’s my one remaining guilty pleasure. With a towel wrapped around me and the hair dryer as my microphone you may hear me belting out a steamy rendition of Englebert Humperdink’s “After the Lovin’.” What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic.
So whatever your guilty pleasure, just remember we’re Americans and were entitled to live on the edge every once in a while. But alas it’s late and I’m hungry. Oh no, we’re out of M&M’s! I’m gonna need a cigarette!
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