Super Fuerte in the Rain

Ok, guys, just how desperate can a man be?

I'll tell you how desperate: Day after day without a cigar, plagued by seasonal pollen allergies that leave your taste buds in ruin, knowing that a cigar under these conditions would only be wasted, good money after bad. And so the interminable waiting, waiting, waiting...

Well, today the temperature finally dropped, it got windy, and the ragweed seemed to go into hibernation. My nose was clear. I had only sneezed three times the whole day. So tonight I braved the elements and stole outside at 12:30 a.m. to finally SMOKE A GOSH-DURNED CIGAR.

My thinking went: I'll take a brand I've smoke many times before, so that if my palate is shot, at least I'll know what I missed. So I grabbed the old standby, an Indian Tabac Super Fuerte robusto.

The wind was howling so ferociously I had to roll down the deck umbrella, pull it out of its holder, and lay it flat on the ground. Then I lit the super fuerte, and it went up like a parched wheat field in August. I was in heaven. I drew and drew and drew, and the flavor was wonderful. Fast burning delight, as if the cigar itself know that a storm was approaching.

Then the rain started to fall. Was I going to cave into the elements, put this baby out and run for cover? No freaking way. I crouched under the awning, which afforded me absolutely no protection, cupped the Indian under my palm, and smoked like a fiend. I felt like a cigar junky, hoping no one would see me in my desperation. They didn't. It was 12:30 going on 1:00. Everyone in their right mind was asleep.

In a half hour, I polished it off. Cigars must burn faster in the wind... And this particular Indian, as if by God's providential will, had an especially open draw. God, I loved that flavor. That cream, that pepper, that brawn.

I smoked it down to an inch, doused it in the birdbath, and crept back into the house, my shirt soaked, my socks dripping wet, my jeans clinging absurdly to my ragged form.

Am I a fiend, an addict, a pathetic wretch of a man? Yes. But keep in mind, I've gone an entire week - that's seven days, count 'em - without a cigar. Can you blame any man in those circumstances? I think not.

It was the fastest cigar I've ever smoked, and I'd do it again. I am not ashamed. I'm a man, dammit, and a man has to live.