It was during a trip to the Virgin Islands years ago that I first realized how many wives send their husbands packing at the mere thought of cigar smoke. CF and I were on holiday on a secluded beach on St. John’s Island when we noticed a distant sailboat launch a dinghy with a lone passenger. Upon hitting shore, he set his chair under the protective shade of a palm tree, pulled out his book, and lit his cigar. It was clear that the Mrs. had sent him away. Since that time, I believe this is standard operating behavior of wives with cigar smoking husbands. Noteworthy is the sheer pleasure the husband exhibits, which I believe is measured equally from the cigar and the fact he has annoyed his wife with his malodorous habit. And on this day, there he was – tucked back in the trees of Central Park, puffing and reading – and happy as he could be.