I was a late bloomer Marianne. 17 years old and had never smoked. Copped a marlboro from my uncle and kept it until the chance came. Went out behind the barn where the corn was green and high, directly up against me and the barn. No one could see me and knew that if my mom caught me it would be a whipping for sure. By that time, the cig was bent into an odd shape. But I smoked it. Made me really sick but didn't learn my lesson as picked up the habit and it remains with me. Darn it, I love it. The post yesterday about loving cigarettes really struck a note (I ask forgiveness from that person for I don't remember who posted it). Quitting seems an impossible task. And therein lies the problem.
mack
