She Lit His Imagination, Then Snuffed It Out

I had almost finished the paper when my eyes rested upon Robin Abcarian’s column (‘Smoking Pleasures: Lighting Up, Throwing Them Away,” June 25). Usually, I have about as much in common with her as I do Cathy Guisewite’s “Cathy” cartoon.

But lo and behold! Robin is sneaking away from her sleeping family to purchase a pack of cigarettes! Holy relapse! Who cares if they were a pack of lights. I read excitedly, pondering the possibilities. This was becoming a real woman, not a fictitious character made up by The Times.

Then that magic moment when I read: “I sat on our porch, stared at the moon and the palms, and smoked a single, delicious cigarette.” That did it. I lit up a cigarette myself, right then and there, feeling at one with Robin Abcarian.

Foolishly, I read on. “Joe Camel must die.” “Tobacco kills.” Yadda, yadda, yadda. I am heartbroken. Once again, the politically correct media has ambushed me. She’s not real; it was all an illusion. I never really loved her. Oh, but the memories. . . .

FREDERICK CLEVELAND

Hollywood