Sickly and Cranky

I hate smoking.

I grew up in a smoking household. One of my chores as a teenager was sometimes to empty the overflowing ashtrays. I should be immune to annoyance at smokers. But years in California and Boston and in a non-smoking living environment have coddled me into thinking that all public spaces, everyone´s clothes, and my hair should not reek of tobacco smoke. I am sick and can barely smell, but you better believe that the stench of your Lucky Strike comes through, buddy. Likewise, I have enough problems navigating unfamiliar streets without also having to contend with a maze of lit ciggies being brandished at eye and waist level. For a continent so obsessed with pure food (witness our dinner establishment, which boasted its own organic beer), Europeans seem remarkably nonchalant about destroying their sense of taste and smell with smoke and poisoning their lungs with carcinogenic smoke.

At least the plane tomorrow will be safe and smoke-free.