When you give up an addiction, people around you become really mean and petty. They do things specifically to irritate you. I think they lie in wait, just trying to stress you out so you'll fail. Then, of course, you can go back to your addiction and be the old sunny personality they know and love, and they won't have to deal with the cranky you anymore. I'm sure that's why they do it. (Right, John?)
Oh, let's have company for dinner. (Let's not.) I already invited him. (Fine.) Don't worry about it. I'll grill. (Great.) Just marinate some steaks. (We don't own any steaks.) We'll go get some, then. (Like I really wanted another trip to the store.) Can't you marinate that for me? (Fine.) What time is dinner? (This is your deal. You decide.) Six. Let's do it at six. (Fine. I'll have everything else ready to go when the meat is done at six.)
So at five thirty, when I'm starting the potatoes, John comes in and tells me the meat's done, and he's just let our neighbor know that he should come over right away. Why would he do that? Because John got hungry early and moved up the time for dinner. Did he tell me so I could get the salads and vegetables and spuds done early? Nope. French bread is still in its package. Dessert is baking, twenty-five minutes left on the timer. Can't turn the oven up to grill the bread when it's baking nut bread. Can't do potatoes and vegetables and salad in five minutes.
Nobody can convince me he accidentally forgot to tell me to get everything else ready early. He wants me to fail, right? He does this every time I quit: pulls little stunts to add on the stress. Surprise to him. This time it's political. He can pull all the little nasty tricks he wants. I might just go on strike, but I'm not going to fail. I refuse to pay an extra dollar a pack in taxes for Obama and the idiots in Congress to spend on things I don't agree with. And that's the truth. Maybe I'll run away from home for a week or two, but I won't be smoking, wherever I go.