Cigar-smoking Tree

The apple does not fall far from the tree, and where an offbeat imagination flourishes, it may amuse one to see from whence it came. On that note, I thought you might enjoy a missive recently sent me by a parental unit (who shall remain nameless) regarding a cigar we sent him.

“We had a relatively balmy day (for December) last week so I sat out back and smoked it. It’s been more than a year since I had a cigar. I’m not really used to the nicotine anymore and I broke out in a cold sweat about a half hour into it. My right hand started to flail uncontrollably. I jumped up and made an effort to control it by throwing my left arm across my body in order to grab it. The centrifugal force sent me spinning clockwise and I tumbled over the deck railing.

“I’m OK now but I laid out back for two days before your mother noticed I was not having meals with her; she’s pretty busy with the knitter-quilter industrial complex here in Newark. The resulting dent in my forehead (like a belly button only bigger) gives me a more rugged look and I can carry stuff there now. Instead of lint it’s pretty good for things like raisins.”

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