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. 😉