Ah, the joys of middle age, where nobody can tell you you can’t smoke big smelly cigars and swill down throat-scorching alcoholic beverages. There are indeed advantages to sliding into geezerhood.

I used to enjoy an occasional cigar, and by “occasional” I mean like one or two a year. Even at that low frequency, though, I bet I haven’t puffed on a Cuban Death Log in a good ten years. I do have a good reason not to pick up a real smoking habit, but I don’t have any particular explanation for having gotten so far away from enjoying an occasional cigar. I suppose sipping whiskey and smoking cigars are sort of complementary behaviors, actually. Done right, they just about cancel out the associated unpleasant flavors in the mouth and tell-tale odors on the breath, and induce a similar degree of buzziness in the head. And that can’t be all bad.

Once summer starts up around here, I might have to consider spending an evening on the deck with a glass in one hand and a cigar in the other, contemplating the fireflies.

Now, who’s the expert on chasing younger women?