You know its pretty bad when you don’t smoke and others smoke around you. I even try to choose restaurants and other places so that I am not inundated with cigarette smoke. This is a personal choice. Claude and I don’t even like to sit close to a smoking area in any restaurant and won’t go back if we smell the smoke at the furthest side away from the smoking area. Again, that is just our choice.
Ghosts, however, don’t always care that I don’t love cigarette smoke. Take, last night or the night before last, (I can’t always remember when it happens because ghosts are always around me, for which I am totally grateful.) I was sitting with Claude and the two puppies watching television when it smelled as if I was sitting in the middle of a smoke filled bar. I couldn’t hear music but I could smell the odor and it wasn’t one of those nice menthol brands either. It was like those old non-filtered brands. Being used to having a ghost or two smoke around me, I turned and asked Claude, who wasn’t three feet from me, if he smelled it too. Of course he didn’t but little Madeline, I think, did because she brought her head up and started sniffing but it could have been because I asked her daddy if he smelled the smoke.
Generally our ghostly visitors refrain from smoking inside unless they really want me to know they are there. It’s not because I don’t want them there. It is because I generally take their presence for granted unless they do something that commands my attention, and of course, smoking does. Claude asked who it was and I said I didn’t know because I didn’t ask. The ghost didn’t volunteer so we didn’t question further. I guess the ghost just needed to make his or her presence known which they do sometimes for no other reason but to be noticed.