I lasted for over twenty-four hours, so that counts for something. Right? Heh.

The way I felt was utter hell. I gave in about a half hour ago and walked to the gas station down the street. I must have looked insane, to my gas station guy and the other customer in the store.

“Hi, how are you?” My gas station guy asked.

“Good, you?” I think I sounded way too happy.

“Good, thanks.”

“Can I get a pack of Marlboro Virginia Blends?” He placed the pack on the counter. “I need a lighter, too.”

“Small one?”

“Sure.” Whatever. Give it to me.

It seemed like an eternity for him to count my change. I almost told him to keep it. I thanked him and practically ran out of the store, then lit up right outside. I’m not sure you’re supposed to light up at a gas station, but at the time getting blown up seemed a small price to pay.

I walked home, smoking and grinning. A small part of me hated myself, but by the time I got home and finished my cigarette I was feeling great. I lay down on my bed, heart thudding with excitement at the sudden nicotine.

“I’ll quit again when I’m pregnant,” I told Sandy. (She gave in before I did today.)

Mike, luckily, did not make fun of me. Though he wishes he had taken the bet. He would have won.