A Failed Experiment

Last weekend, I attended a convention in Kyushu. It was my first time to go to the southern island of Japan, and it was a blast to meet up with people I usually only communicate with over email. The theme of this particular convention was "relaxation", and they encouraged us to relax in every way possible, even if that meant to "drink a lot of wine, sing bad karaoke, and watch four Japanese guys perform hip hop dancing on stage." Aside from that, I did manage to make it to a spa with my friends and had reflexology done on my feet for the very first time.

During the convention, some members of our organization introduced the theme and location of next year's convention with a lot of hoopla. The theme centers on "health" and the convention will take place at a public sports plaza type hotel where there will be many opportunities to "get healthy." Knowing that it takes more than 3 days (the length of an average convention) to get healthy, these particular members asked us to each come up with a personal goal and to track your progress toward that goal until the convention next year. Oh, and we can try to get family members or friends to sponsor us and the money would go for breast cancer research.

On the way home, my friends and I discussed potential goals. Here are some of the goals we came up with:
1. Lose weight (too obvious!)
2. Eat a salad with at least two meals a day (got some raised eyebrows on that one...guess not!)
3. Try not to get a cold between now and next February (yeah, right!)
4. Scrapbook one page a day until next February (not directly related to health, but more to do with mental health)

At home, I thought more about these goals and wondered which one I should choose. Then, just on a whim, I asked my husband what he would say to me or what he would think of me if I were a smoker. He looked right at me and said, "I couldn't care less." Of course, I tried to call him on it. Wouldn't he say, "Smoking is bad for you health. You shouldn't do that to your body. You should quit. What about when you get pregnant, blah, blah, blah?" He denied this, so I told him that I was going to take up smoking then and there.

I won't even get into the part of the story where he protested my use of his cigarettes (Go out and buy your own!) and my asking him to do me a favor and pick some up for me the next day (Since I have never purchased a pack myself and don't even know how or where to buy them!) and him saying that I am really immature (and me thinking that taking up smoking is a rather "adult" thing to do, doncha think?).

What I will say is that I went outside on our balony with a cigarette in hand and lit it. It took about 5 tries to get it lit completely. Then I started smoking, well kind of. It took about 10 tries before I could actually inhale properly. Then, the cigarette broke in half because I was gripping it too hard. I held it together and smoked it to the end anyway.

Here is the clincher. I did what I most hate him to do.

I stood just in front of the open patio door so he could see me in my full glory from his seat on the sofa. I suppose World Cup Soccer was taking most of his attention from the situation at hand, but I know he glanced over a few times. I made sure to exhale directly on the laundry that was hanging there. And, I sloppily flicked my cigarette over the ash can so that ashes could fly every where.

But, immediately, after smoking this one cigarette, I could smell it on my hair, my fingers and my own breath. I thought, wow, this is pretty gross. So, I went inside and sat next to him on the couch and breathed directly in his face while talking to him breathily. "How's the game? What's happening? Who's winning?"

He couldn't have cared less.

Finally, he said, "Wow, your breath stinks," in a flat tone.

I said, "You really think so?"

He said, "Well, that is what you want me to say, right?"

I went outside to smoke another.

Later in the bathtub, without mentioning the next convention or the theme, I told him that I would like to quit smoking by next February. Yes, that would be my goal. Would he like to join me?

Incredulously, he looked me over and said, "You have taken up smoking? And you are going to quit by next February? What are you talking about?"

I repeated my offer for him to join me in quitting by next February.

He said, "I'm getting out. You are being so childish."

After the bath, I went outside to smoke another, and I thought to myself (as I got another whiff of my hair), "Perhaps I need to come up with a different goal. This one is not working."