A woman called in to a radio show this morning, with the story of how she met her husband. I was at the Y, toiling away on a stationary bike, and I perked up. I love a good love story.
It was their first date, and he excused himself to go to the restroom. When he returned, she noticed he smelled like cigarettes. So she asked him if he smoked, and he admitted he did.
“I could never date a smoker,” she told him. “This isn’t going to work out.”
So he quit smoking, and they’ve been married for 19 years. I felt an actual pang. I mean, seriously, that’s a sweet story. It’s not easy to quit smoking. He must have really loved her.
But then she continued, “So he switched to chewing tobacco. And that’s what he’s been using ever since.”
And so they lived happily ever after, and we note yet another difference between your average romance novel hero and your average real-life husband.
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