Having heard of the launching of a new cigar company and wanting to meet someone since I came to the unrenowned realization that my boyfriend was not a struggling artist, he was just struggling, I decided to go.
I looked pretty good – not my best, not my worst. My hair was up, my outfit was bland, and I practically drenched myself in Marc Jacobs Daisy. When I walked in, I was in awe.
"Oh my God, I should have showered."-
"These guys look like...gentlemen."-
"Wow, everyone’s starring at me."-
I was the only woman there, with the exception of a woman in a tee shirt two sizes too small and a muffin top hanging over her ripped,unwashed jeans.
I waltzed in as nonchalantly as I possibly could (given that I knew nothing about cigars, thirty men were staring at me, and I felt like my heart was going to fall out of my Spanx).
I must have looked lost, because a silver fox in a tailored suit flagged me over, and, with great relief, I glided into an open seat next to him. He was so cute.
We engaged in conversation about his boat, his business, his sick grandmother and even his love for his golden retriever.
At around the time he said, “I’d love to take you on my horse this weekend,” did Cupid bite me so hard all I could see and hear were red hearts and wedding bells.
I faded back in to him when he said, “Oh my God, you haven’t even tried a cigar yet!Here.” The preceding events seemed to occur in slow motion. I had never smoked a cigar before, but how hard could it be?
I took the cigar to my lips and tried to look as effortless as I possibly could. As soon as I inhaled the cigar, the nausea hit.