Yesterday I went to a golf tournament. I expected lots of nicely groomed older couples wearing overpriced sportswear. I expected fresh air and sunshine. I expected pollen, too. I got that. What I didn’t expect was lots of smelly tobacco smoke. There were smokers everywhere, and evidently lots of them were cigar smokers. One guy stood less than ten feet from where my daughter and I were sitting, obliviously puffing in our direction. Between allergies and smoke, today my lungs still hurt.
What with the pollen, the heat (in one Portapotty I thought I was going to pass out), and the smoke, by the time we got back to the car, I was more or less ill. In Massachusetts, it’s been illegal for several years—I guess this must have coincided more or less with the beginning of a boom in cigar smoking among the cool—to smoke in restaurants or bars. I used to come home sick almost every time I went out for dinner or drinks. Coincidentally, since the law went into effect back then, that doesn’t happen anymore.