Out of the Humidor
From the Print Edition:
Matt Dillon, Spring 96
As a teenage girl, I was often bemused with the dreams and plans of how I was going to fall in love. You know--the courtship, the roses, the letter sweater and all that Gidget-type stuff.
Well, here I am, 25 years later, and I have never actually fallen in love--until now.
A couple of years ago, an attractive gentleman sat at my game (I deal blackjack in Las Vegas) smoking a handsome Churchill. I think he was surprised at how welcomed he was with his cigar and at my extreme interest in what he was smoking. When he learned through further conversation that I smoked cigars (what I now realize was garbage), he presented me with a beautiful Montecristo. He was the first man I had met that didn't frown on my indulgence of cigars.
This experience prompted me to purchase my first copy of Cigar Aficionado in hopes of gaining more knowledge about the smoking of fine cigars. Not only did I find your top-notch publication very educational, but it really opened my eyes: I was not the only woman in the world who smoked the occasional stogie!
Several visits and months later, my cigar smoking player blurted out an invitation to join him and his traveling companion for dinner that night. (It just so happened to be Valentine's Day). I met them for dinner. We ate, we drank, we smoked, we talked, we laughed and a sweet connection occurred.
He returned to the Midwest the next day and has called me every day since. The courtship has begun, and though it has its challenges with 1,514 miles between us, it has its own uniqueness as well. Instead of sending roses, he makes sure my humidor is filled with my favorite smokes. Every time I light up, I feel a sweet presence of this special man who has touched my life. Instead of a letter sweater, he gives me his boxer shorts and oxford shirts. I still have the cigar band he slipped on my finger recently--we're going steady. He visits frequently and we enjoy checking out the local tobacco shops, selecting and experimenting with a variety of fine cigars. Some of my most cherished moments with him have been simply sitting, smoking and talking.
In the not too distant past, if anyone would have suggested that a cigar would be an icon of my falling-in-love experience, I would have laughed. Not only have I fallen in love, but I no longer smoke in secret.
Life is good.
Las Vegas, Nevada
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