Smoking
The children are asleep in the back seat as the countryside rolls by, Dad driving, Mom riding shotgun. He’s contentedly inhaling. She turns away from the view of hills and fields to let him know that if he only had the sense he was born with he’d stop smoking, it’s ruining his health, or at least he could do it for her sake, she can’t stand the smell in his hair and on his skin, or he should think of the kids, who’ll need him to be around as they grow up, plus there’s the cost of his filthy habit, they’d easily save hundreds a year if he’d quit. He con- tinues silently concentrating on the road. Suddenly, she nicks the cigarette from his lips and throws it out of the window. A long spray of glowing ash and it’s gone. Then she wrests the pack from his breast pocket and flings that out too. The car veers, soars, and comes to a halt, wheels up in a ditch.
dum-dee-dum
something something something
Burma-Shave