There is a third party. And it’s called a cigarette.

I think he thinks that his smoking is more important than the prospect of me walking out because of frustration. That does wonders to my self-esteem. What the f*** am I doing all of this for?

I have two choices:

  • Suck it up. It’s better to have a smoking C than not to have C.
  • Stick to what I believe in. Be determined that I do not want any of my future children growing up with that crap at home. Make sure that I will not lose a husband decades before his time because of mesothelioma.

Hmmm. What a difficult choice. 😉


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