The Trash Plan: How I Outsmarted Myself for a Smoke

Early in our marriage, my wife had just one big issue with me—not my jokes, not my messiness, not even my taste in movies. No, her biggest problem was my smoking.

After several “serious conversations,” some low-key sulking, and one slightly dramatic moment involving a torn-up cigarette pack, we finally reached a compromise. The terms were clear:

Three cigarettes a day.

One after breakfast.

One after lunch.

One after dinner.

I didn’t like it, but I figured it was better than a complete ban. Or, as I told myself, a small puff of freedom was better than none at all.

For a while, it worked. I stuck to the deal. But one particular morning, after breakfast, I lit up my “allowed” cigarette a little too early. It was only 8:45 a.m. when the sweet, smoky cloud floated past me and vanished — along with my daily nicotine buzz.

Fast forward to 10:00 a.m. and my craving had returned. Strong. Loud. Unreasonable. Lunch was hours away. My hands were twitching. My brain was arguing with itself.

And then... genius struck.

My wife was washing dishes in the kitchen. I was slouched on the couch playing video games. She hated when I played games while she was doing chores. Especially loud games.

Even worse? She had this favorite line:

“Hey, do something useful!”

So I decided to use that line to my advantage.

Step one: Create chaos.

I scattered orange peels, chip crumbs, tangerine skins, and tiny bits of stale bread all over the floor — carefully, deliberately — like I was setting up a murder scene involving fruit.

Step two: Turn up the volume.

The game volume went to max. The sounds of digital gunfire, dramatic music, and shouting characters filled the room. The chaos was complete.

And then, just as planned, I heard it:

“What’s going on here?! I’m washing dishes and you’re just making a mess? Get up and clean this right now!”

I stood up quickly, trying not to look too eager.

“Sure, honey, I’ll take out the trash,” I said, grabbing the overflowing bag like a man on a mission.

But in my head, I was doing mental cartwheels.

“Yes! The plan worked! The smoke shall be mine!”

I stepped outside with the trash bag in one hand and lit up a glorious, off-the-record cigarette with the other. It was a beautiful moment. The sun was out. The birds were singing. The smoke curled upward like freedom itself.

I stayed out longer than usual, savoring every drag like it was forbidden fruit. Because technically, it was.

Eventually, I walked back in. Calm. Refreshed. Wearing a mysterious grin I thought looked cool but probably just made me look suspicious.

And then… my wife looked at me.

She raised an eyebrow and asked calmly, “Did you go out for a smoke?”

I acted like she’d just asked if I went out to talk to aliens.

“What? No way! I was just playing games. Then you told me to take out the trash—so I did!”

Then… silence.

And then… a horrifying realization.

The trash.

It was still in my hand.

I hadn’t taken it out.

I hadn’t even tried.

I had walked outside, smoked a cigarette, and come back inside still holding the trash bag like it was my new emotional support item.

We both looked down at it.

She didn’t need to say anything.

That was the moment I knew:

I’d been caught red-handed. Literally.

She stared at me for a long moment, then burst out laughing. After a good five minutes of laughter, a head shake, and a bit of scolding, she finally said:

“Forget it. Smoke as much as you want. Just stop making stupid plans.”

So there it was.

My carefully negotiated three-cigarette-a-day deal?

Gone.

But now I had unlimited cigarettes — at the cost of my dignity.

Turns out, the fastest way to lose control of your vices is to hold the trash… and forget what it’s really for.