He always smokes his cigarettes down to the filter. And when finished liked to step on it, pick it up, pull a pen from his waistcoat pocket, and sign it, ‘E.M.’
It wasn’t the smoking that bothered his devoted wife. Or when he would walk away in the middle of conversations at dinner parties in search of a flat surface to write on and a napkin to fold his filters into. It was the fact that he kept each one in a collection of books.
She had enough and told him so with the flat side of a frying pan.
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Genius. I’m serious.
OMG! In 4 words...Just Leave The Man! Good story though.