secondhand smokeshow

I reached into my spijkerbroek (jeans) and felt for my aansteker (lighter). 




"Alstublieft (please)? Can I sniff your Klompen Kloggen (primo pipe tobacco)?" She repeated herself. She was beautiful.




I took my hand out of my zak (pocket). I looked into her blauw oogs (blue eyes). 




"You realize that secondhand smoke kills approximately 600,000 people annually, right?”

She nooded her hoofd (head). “Ja.” She looked at me intently.

I was in a moral quandary, which was certainly not the situation I wanted to be in. All I wanted to do was puff on my pipe and think the situation over, but that was no longer an option.

“You realize that secondhand smoke contains thousands of toxic chemicals, like ammonia, butane, cyanide, lead, polonium, right?”

She nodded her hoofd once again.

I was not about to give in to her suicidal request.

“I’m sorry, pretty Dutch girl, but the answer is ‘neen’ (no). I can’t be responsible for your slow and painful death. There’s no way I’m about to carry that burden around with me for the rest of my life.”

Tears began to stream down her tender wang. Wang is Dutch for “cheek”. She covered her slender gezicht (face) with her hands and started to sob and stomp her wooden clogs on the ground.

I looked around anxiously, she was beginning to make quite a scene.

“Hey. Hey, girl, stop that. Stop that crying. Right now. Get ahold of yourself.”

She looked up at me, her oogs were watery and bloodshot, her wangs were wet with her salty tears. Then, she went off.

“WAT GA JE ROOK LAASTE BEZWAAR SPRICKEN SE BOOGLE FRUGLE FROZEN FREEGLE (???)!!! FUR TESTIKELEN (testicles) ZWEET (sweat) SCHOUDER FROUDER (?) KLOMPEN KLOGGEN (primo tobacco), MAANDAG (Monday), DINSDAG (Tuesday), WOENSDAG (Wednesday), DONDERDAG (Thursday), VRIJDAG (Friday?), ZATERDAG (Saturday) PREJUGEN BROWGDING FROWDING ZONDAG (Sunday), HAKKEN WANDELSTOK TROUTFLINKEN SPREE-”

I couldn’t take it any longer. “OK! JESUS CHRISTFAGGEN!” I pulled out my pipe and my aansteker (lighter), and lit the tobacco and blew out a puff of smoke in her face. “There, you happy?”

The girl instantly stopped hyperventilating and composed herself. She smiled at me.

“Dank u! (Thank you!).” She curtseyed and then skipped off awkwardly, her clogs clunking loudly behind her. She disappeared into a thrift shop down the street.

I stared after her. She was a secondhand smokeshow. I was intrigued.