In this particular blog, I’m going to get away from the subject of language and how people continually abuse it, at least for now. Instead, I’m going to address an issue that has been irritating me for some time now but about which I have heretofore remained silent, well, that is, except to my husband and a few friends, who have had to listen to me vent my rather heated opinion regarding the issue. That issue is the anti-smoking campaign in this country.

Unlike some people, I have vices—quite a few in fact—and one of them is smoking. And I make no apologies to anyone. But why should I? Heck, I enjoy smoking. I smoke while writing (I am currently smoking), while working the scrambled-word and crossword puzzles in the newspaper, after exercising at the gym, after riding my bike, while riding a horse, while watching a movie, while reading the paper, and, up until about a year ago, while lingering over coffee and/or drinks after dining out in a restaurant. And therein lies the source of my disgruntlement—the anti-smoking legislation so many states have passed that prohibits me from lighting up in a restaurant and punishes me with a hefty fine if I dare to disregard that legislation.

I try to be a courteous smoker. I do not smoke in other people’s homes unless they themselves are smokers and say I am perfectly free to smoke while inside their homes. I do not blow smoke in other people’s faces. I also abide by the law that says I am no longer free to smoke in restaurants. However, I do not like that law, and I think it is grossly unfair because, in my opinion, there are far worse things to which one can be exposed while dining out than a little secondhand smoke.

For one, there are cell-phones users. You know the people to whom I’m referring, those rude, inconsiderate ones who yak away at a nearby table or booth, not caring who overhears their so-called conversations as they argue with spouses, whine to some friend or relative about a boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse, complain to a coworker about a boss, berate a fellow worker, giggle with a lover over last night’s escapades, and/or scream at the kids they left at home unattended to watch x-rated movies, raid the liquor cabinet, and/or burn down the house.

If I had my way, there would be an employee holding a wastebasket at the entrance to all restaurants, and anyone who entered the doorway would either have to drop his or her cell-phone into the basket or else be denied service. In fact, restaurants should have stickers on their doors, you know, like those tacky “No Smoking” stickers, except these would contain a picture of a cell-phone with a big red “X” right through the center of its camera/telephone/text-message/Internet-capable multi-faceted and multi-buttoned keypad.

Next, and even worse than cell-phones users are children; yes, you heard me, children, those little miniature humans that parents think are so precious and drag with them into restaurants in order to punish all the people who are either old enough to have raised their own and thrown them out of the house to fend for themselves or, if young, considerate enough of other people to have found a babysitter for the evening. Admit it; little children are loud and noisy, messy, uncivilized, and totally unpleasant to be around. In my opinion, they should all be locked away in a closet until they’re, oh, 35 or so, and then only allowed out if they have learned how to behave in public.

I have news for all those parents who bring their kids into restaurants. Not another soul in that entire restaurant, unless he or she is an immediate member of your family, looks at your kids and thinks, “Oh, aren’t they precious.” What they think is that your kids are spoiled obnoxious brats, and the last thing on earth they want is to have to sit there in a restaurant, where they are spending their hard-earned money in order to enjoy a meal they didn’t have to cook, and to be forced to listen your kids whine, complain, scream, and pitch tantrums. Nor do they want to watch your kids spill their food and drinks, talk with their mouths full, jump up and run around the table, or get red-faced and then turn blue if you, their parents, dare try to correct their uncivilized behavior.

And that’s all I have to say on the matter. Now, I need a cigarette.