Out of the Humidor
From the Print Edition:
Rush Limbaugh, Spring 94
Let me begin by stating, "I don't smoke; I never have." Then one day the president of our company allowed me to borrow the premier issue of your magazine; ever since he has promptly passed each issue along to me. I read each issue from cover to cover and have come to find cigars, as well as the magazine, fascinating.
My boyfriend smokes cigarettes and had never shown an interest in smoking cigars, but one day, while at the local mall, I took him to the Tinder Box, and we chose a cigar. Now, five months later, after reading your magazines, which I keep out, he is experimenting nightly with different cigars to choose his favorite. Every evening after dinner we sit back, and he lights a cigar, pours some brandy and has all the issues of Cigar Aficionado set out before him. This is truly my favorite time, and the highest quality of time that we spend together. I relax and enjoy the aroma of each cigar as he enjoys the smoke and describes to me the different flavors that he experiences. Who would have thought that choosing a cigar, and the anticipation of lighting each cigar would be as exciting as the anticipation of a sexual revelation.
Thank you for opening up a whole new world to both of us, one that has brought us closer together and has taught us to appreciate the fine art of smoking a cigar.
Kelly S. Ruenz
Clemmons, North Carolina
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I'd like to express my appreciation to you for rescuing the self-image of the cigar smoker. While the uninformed masses may still recoil from the sight or aroma of my leafy passion, at least I am now secure in the knowledge that mine is not a solitary persecution.
Can't smoke in the house. Can't smoke at work. Hell, people even complain in the ballpark now. Lucky the man who finds a restaurant with cigar tolerance; blessed is the man who can then purchase one there!
Vigorous legislation and self-righteous carping have narrowed the venue of enjoyment to the golf course and that glorious hour in my yard astride the John Deere, when the mower's engine drowns out the disapproving "He's smoking another one of those dog turds!" Ah, the four-cycle sonata with a fine cigar!
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