Thursday, March 21, 2013

One Year's Meat Is Another Year's Poison. Or Piggybank.

Seymour smoked.  Florence smoked.  In those days it was like drinking coffee or putting ketchup on your burger.

When they got married in 1947 or 48, someone gave them a bubble-glass ashtray for a wedding present.

It did its job like the rest of the stuff in the house. 

But then smoking got definitely bad for you, not just kinda a lousy habit, but really really bad.

Florence offered me and Louise $100 or maybe it was more if we didn't smoke until we were old.  Like twenty-one.  Louise made her pay up.

The rest of us quit here and there.  And then finally.

So the ashtray, along with all the other accoutrements of lighting up, had to find a new job.


Related Posts:

Sunday Memories: On The Road

Sunday Memories: Part Three: Home Work

Sunday Memories: Our Gods Eat These Foods

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