This past Saturday Hub and I attended an event at the local cigar shop.
I love saying that, "the local cigar shop."
We didn't have a cigar shop - locally - until recently and LET me tell you, it's been like Christmas around here ever since: Hub's humidor is now stocked at all times.
It was sad, for a while...three or four pitiful, little cigars rattling around the bottom of the beautiful, inlaid, cedar-lined humidor my mother bought him for Christmas a few years ago... But not anymore!
And the best part is that the owner of said shop is a customer of ours so we can totally justify loitering in the walk-in humidor and spending a little money.
So anyway. Saturday. On Saturday a boutique cigar maker was at the shop, demonstrating cigar-rolling - a tent was erected in the parking lot and under it the band played on ...sorry...while inside: free samples of the featured cigars.
"Shut up!" you say. I will not. 'Tis true. Every word of it.
Hanging out, listening to the music, I was one of about a half-dozen women in a group of around 50 people.
In and out of the shop, all afternoon, go Hub and I, and some old friends we ran into, sampling cigars - a good, stinky time was had by all.
So there stands I, Cameroon in hand, talking with a group of people about food and wine and bourbon and all the things that make work worth working and life worth living... when a dude with a camera comes up to the group and snaps a pic.
No problem. The shop has a website and the manufacturer has an "events" page on their site loaded with images of people at different smoky functions around the country enjoying their yummy carcinogenic treats.
The guy takes the picture and then angles toward me. I look at him. Hub looks at him. Friend looks at him, and dude is grinning like a possum at me.
Do you know what he had the nerve to say to us, the group, and everyone within earshot?
"She really looks like she knows what she's doing."
The implication in his tone was - clearly - that he thought I was doing a great job of passing myself off as a cigar smoker. Posing. Mimicking, if you will.
Well, F-U, Buddy. I've been enjoying - albeit with increasing rarity - cigars since you were shitting in your shoes. A decade longer than Hubster, and longer - possibly - than the guy who owns the shop.
I felt a spasm of Tony Soprano flash through me, but I resisted it. This is the South and I'm learning to deal with situations in a Southern manner. So I smiled at him, struck my best, dramatic cigar-smoking pose, and said,
"Yeah, she knows what she's doing."
Image Credit: Pretty cool site. This guy's illustrations are amazing.