I'm talking about the goopy ones, not the more tobacco forward aromatics from Gawith, or the codger blends.
I've stuck back many jars of a few different blends like this... You know the kind of wet, goopy, aromatics... The kind that couldn't satisfy the nicotine cravings of a 4th grader.
Hell, you might be better off socking back bags of Bouy Gold, like our lawyer does.
Flavor is important obviously, but tobacco gets it's value from nicotine. If not, we'd be smoking lettuce or something.
I was thinking:
• Are aromatics completely useless?
• Do aromatics suck?
Once upon a time I went to college in Kansas City, and I was homesick beyond any ability to describe.
But after a few days in the dormitory I noticed that in the lobby was a piano and these outrageously beautiful girls from the Conservatory of Music would practice on it, sometimes dressed in long flowing gowns like they wore at recitals.
If there had been any goopy floral scented aromatics for sale at the 7/11 at the bottom of the hill below the dormitory I’d have bought some, but I had to settle for Pallidin’s Blackcherry.
It only tasted expensive, the package read.
But in a dorm full of loud mouthed and profane college boys, I’d load up some Pallidin’s in my Carey dress up nicely, and sit out in the lobby and smoke it, and bye and bye one of those girls playing the piano would complement how good it smelled.
I’d then complement her on how well she played the piano, and request a song my grandmother used to play.
They would always know Listen to the Mockingbird (it’s one of the first songs any piano player learns) but they’d never heard the words sung.
They are old grandmas today assuming they’re alive, but Candy and Madeline learned The Game of Triangles and we performed it for my dear mother when she came up for parent’s weekend.
Candy offered to sell her old guitar to my mother for twenty dollars, the same as they offered her at the music store for trade in.
I still have the cancelled check, that I gave her.
But Candy’s parents were wealthy, and they took Candy out for diner and poor Maddie’s parents were far away in New York.
I watched Mama have Maddie put new strings on Candy’s guitar, and let her play it.
Then she taught her Jealous Heart, the song she sang that always destroyed my Daddy.
I still have both the guitar Daddy bought my Mama and Candy’s in the attic.
A goopy aromatic might have worked quicker, but Pallidin’s worked well enough.