Cigars Are Math

Cigars are math.

Not like algebra. No one’s solving for X. It’s more like that weird math your uncle uses to justify bad decisions. “Well if I don’t buy the 3-pack, I’m technically losing money…”

I told myself I’d only smoke cigars on special occasions. Celebrations. Milestones.

Cut to: It’s Tuesday. The milestone? I answered three emails and didn’t throw my phone across the room. Boom. Cigar time.

See? Math.

Also, there’s the time math. Like, if I light it before sunset, it doesn’t count. Or if I only plan to smoke half and then “accidentally” smoke the whole thing, that’s not indulgence, that’s follow through.

Don’t even get me started on the “just one more” math at the cigar lounge. That place operates in dog hours. You think you’ve been there 45 minutes, annnd it’s been four hours, three drinks, and now you’re emotionally invested in a guy named Lou’s divorce proceedings.

Every regular at a cigar lounge has at least one fake job and two real opinions on bourbon. It’s amazing. You sit there marinating in smoke and secondhand ambition, pretending to take calls just to avoid the guy telling you about his NFT startup again.

But then… the wind shifts. The light hits just right. You take a pull and go quiet. And in that moment? You’re not in Nashville or Chicago or wherever your stress lives. You’re just a guy in a chair with a warm drink and no plans.

That’s cigar math, and don’t worry, it always adds up.

Keep it well lit, my friends.