killing us softly

I've lost count as to how many times I've complained and ranted on Plurk about our chain-smoking flatmate. He's a much-older cousin of my husband who doesn't seem to have an ounce of respect for other people's choice not to slowly kill themselves with those cancer sticks.

Our flat is small with 2 bedrooms: one is ours while the other is Jeolo's playroom. Then there's a receiving room that was converted into another bedroom which J's cousin occupies, a tiny kitchen with a single exhaust fan and a common bathroom. With a living space this small, anyone who lights up in the kitchen can stink up the entire house easily. Worse is our bedroom door faces the kitchen dead in the face and each time we open it, it sucks in the kitchen smells, too. He also smokes in the bathroom and nothing can get my blood pressure boiling faster than to walk in there at one in the morning with the place reeking of smoke. Grrr!

I've asked J to talk to him in the nicest way possible about it. I know it's a sensitive situation for him because our flatmate is an older relative but I thought it well within our rights especially because of Jeolo. Guess what? He might as well have had a conversation with a damned brick wall. His winner reply was that his wife never complained. Well, excuse me... I don't think any of us look like his wife. We even  have several cans of air freshener within easy reach, hoping he'd take the hint and use it after each of his sessions but he either doesn't give a rat's ass about our request or he's deliberately messing with us.

I don't care if someone chooses to slowly kill himself by smoking. It's his body, his choice, his money but I do take offense when that person doesn't respect my choice not to expose myself or my family to it. We are sharing a home. We're not sitting together in a bar or some other public place where smoking is freely allowed. A person has to learn to compromise and consider other people's desire to stay healthy especially when young kids are involved. 

And no, moving isn't as easy a solution as you might think but I don't want to get into that right now. I just really needed to get all that out. But, I swear, I am this close to wishing emphysema on him. Or I may not have to because, at the rate he's going, he's probably going to have it in a few more years. My Plurk peeps have some nice suggestions though like installing a sprinkler system without his knowledge, using a fire extinguisher on him with the excuse that I thought the kitchen was on fire and loading his ciggies with watusi, a small, red dancing firecracker that's thinner than a matchstick so that when he lights up... well, you can guess at the rest.

Mood Music: Smokers' Song by Imelda May