"I do wish you would quit with me," he says. "But if you don't, at least don't be annoyed with me when I go outside for fresh air while you're smoking."

Here is the deal. I like smoking. I think it is a pretty interesting and entirely fulfilling activity. I enjoy having my vices. However, I know that this one is going to be much more difficult to engage in happily, once my boy quits.

So I quit smoking today.

He, of course, is still smoking downstairs. He is not officially quitting until New Year's. I do not see a reason to wait. If I decide to quit, I am going to do it right now, not count down the days of happiness I have left.

There is one cigarette left in my pocket. I am saving it for later -- precisely when, I do not know. I am not aware of a method by which one can detect the arrival of one's darkest hour, to know exactly when to smoke one's last cigarette, to see one through. It has only been about six hours since my second-to-last cigarette, and I am already a little antsy. I could do gum or patches or whatever-the-hell-else people try, but to be honest, I really would like to take a stab at the cold-turkey approach. Test my willpower. My resolve. And while I am at it, see just how cranky I can get.

This should be a fun experiment, folks. Oh, and if you can think of an interesting vice with which I can fill the vast, sucking void that no smoking leaves in my life, please let me know. And yes, drinking and crazy gay sex are already taken.