I thought I was being so sneaky when I would pop in a piece of mint gum and give myself 2 sprays of body mist after I had been smoking like a frickin’ chimney all day at school. Turns out that it never really hid anything; I just smelled like a nauseating blend of mint, orchids and ashtrays. I would always tell my mom that I was in a car where someone ELSE was smoking, not me. Yeah, right!
The morning after a party I had been at, my father asked me to sit down at the kitchen table. We already had a pretty strained relationship at this point, and we never really talked to each other, so I knew something was up. As soon as I sat down, he whipped out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and slammed them on the table. The hilarious part was that they ACTUALLY weren’t mine. I had forgotten that I was holding a friend's pack the night before because she had no pockets. All I was thinking was, “Shit! The classic ‘They aren’t mine’ excuse wasn’t going to fly, even if it was in fact, the truth.” The irony was too delicious. I couldn’t help it... I laughed. This made my father turn a vulgar shade of purple.
“YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY? YOU THINK THAT 2 HOLES IN MY LUNGS WERE FUNNY? WE THOUGHT YOU WERE SMARTER THAN THIS– ESPECIALLY AFTER SEEING EVERYTHING I WENT THOUGH!”
I knew I was screwed either way, so I thought I might as well go for gold. “No, but those aren’t my cigarettes... those are Andrea’s; THESE are mine.” As I proceeded to reveal my own pack, which was a different brand, I concluded with, “Andrea’s smokes are totally gross!” I was grounded for 3 weeks.