Thwack thwack thwack.

I went out to eat at the Country Cottage today. Out of habit, we sat in the smoking section. I hadn't had any cravings for a cigarette all morning, unless you count the first thing this morning when I had a "What is it I'm supposed to be doing right now?" moment, and the moment when I was gathering up my things to go out for lunch.

Cue flashback.

Keys? Check.

Cellphone? Check.

That seems to be everything, but my coat pocket is noticably empty. I must be forgetting something, but what?

Even seeing other people enjoying a post-meal smoke didn't bother me. The suck, the moment's pause (sometimes with eyes actually closed) as the nicotine rockets to the brain, the exhale of the afterglow-colored smoke. None of that bothered me.

The waitress brought my salad and refilled my tea. I began attacking the food with gusto. It was really good.

And then I heard it. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. The pounding of a new pack of cigarettes against the palm of the hand, to compress the tobacco for a smoother smoke.

I didn't do the packslap myself, but I had been around it enough when I was enjoying a smoke that a couple of synapses fired up and now all I could think of was how badly I wanted a Marlboro Green.

I tried to turn back to my salad to keep my mind off smoking, but now the taste wasn't all that great and the texture was all wrong.

I had the waitress bring me a bunch (and by "bunch" I mean "mountain") of bacon bits to fix the salad. Made it much better. So much for eating healthily.

Now I know why people gain weight when they quit smoking.