As I got into the car, my mother leaned over, and sniffed me. I looked at her quizzically and said, “What?...” She frowned at me and exploded, “You smell like an ashtray!”
“Mother, I haven’t been smoking if that’s what you’re thinking,” I explained. She started rambling. I eased my eyes closed and leaned my head back; this would be one lonnng ride home.

When she turned off the ignition, I looked into her accusing eyes, and firmly told her “I have not been smoking, and I never have. If you don’t trust me with that simple thing, then I don’t know what to tell you. That’s your own issue. You obviously don’t trust me, so I don’t see the point in arguing with you when I will still be wrong.”

What she didn’t know…was how close she was to the truth about me smoking