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Dating men cigars

dating men cigars-62

While I was not a smoker back then, I recall inhaling and enjoying the rich aromatic fragrance of other men's cigars as I sat on airplanes and in restaurants; and from these men's expensive style in dress, and their self-assurance, I saw them as part of a privileged breed that, only because they were much older than me, did I experience no envy.

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Each evening after dinner, accompanied by my two dogs, I stroll onto Park Avenue to walk my cigar.My cigar is the same color as my dogs, and my dogs are also drawn to its smell; they leap up my legs as I light it, prior to our walk, with their nostrils widened and their eyes narrowly focused with the same greedy stare I see whenever I offer them milk bones or a tray of spicy canapés left over from one of our cocktail parties.Were my cigar not so expensive, and were I not certain that they would cat it, I might offer them a puff, for I'm sure they would appreciate the after-dinner pleasure much more than most of my friends.Hazel and Tami decide to meet up for a little bonding at a cigar shop in an attempt to get Tami puffing on cigars before an upcoming vacation with Reggie.When Keonna joins them, she sits down for a little girl talk and asks Tami how she and Reggie met.That their loving response toward me and my cigars continues to this day, decades after their final fight over paper rings, makes me wonder if some women's repugnance of cigar smoking might have less to do with a cigar's smoke or smell than with their personal relationships with the first man in their lives who indulged in the habit.

Since the public outcry against cigar smoking, which is an all-but-exclusive male practice, has been accelerated during these recent decades that have also witnessed the increased emphasis on women's rights, it has occurred to me that there might be some connection. My wife of 30-plus years, who never complained of cigar smoke during the first half of our marriage, has, since her subsequent promotions in the business world, shown an assertiveness against my nightly habit that has driven me out into the streets, there to seek acceptance and tolerance in the polluted evening air of New York, with my dogs.

After it became clear as day that the homies weren’t going to end their boo-fest anytime soon, Tami and Reggie gave in and started talking.

Their relationship progressed and boom, here they are in love and looking for surrogates.

What would Sigmund Freud, an inveterate cigar smoker, say to all this?

Would he identify the cigar as a phallic symbol that contemporary women both envy and loathe?

No, no, I decided; in my case I could not blame women entirely for the cool receptions accorded to my cigars.