“Frank, that was the best Lasagna I’ve had
in weeks. No, it’s the best  I’ve
ever had.”

“Thank you Nancy, it’s a secret family recipe”, replied
Frank, as he picked up the dishes and put them in the sink.

“Where are you going?”

“I must have a cigarette dear”, Frank
replied, while washing dishes in a horridly fashion.

Nancy said, “You’ll catch the death of cold if you go outside, it’s
bloody below freezing out there”, while getting up from the kitchen table.

With an exasperated look overtaking his
face, he cried, “You knew I was a smoker, when you married me”.

“That doesn’t mean that I have to like it”,
she replied, while crossing her arms.

Panicking, he looked for his cigarettes in a
futile attempt to ignore her. He looked
all around, moving knick-knacks to and fro, but to no avail. With rage overwhelming his emotions, he
cried, “Nancy…Where are my smokes? Tell me now or…”.

In a fit of laughter, she answered, “They
are in the top right drawer, where you left them”.

He said, “I’m going outside”, while
shuddering from head to toe, from the nicotine withdrawals.

“All right then. Have fun catching a cold”, she replied, while
snickering.

As he exited the house, a frigid chill
entered through his cowhide leather jacket, and worsened his tremors. Fidgeting, he managed to grasp the warm
lighter from his pocket. He flipped the
top on the Zippo lighter, and struck the striker against the flint. While shuttering back and forth, he took a
cigarette out of the fresh pack, and placed it on his lips. Finally, he put the open flame against the
cigarette and took a draw.

Suddenly, life, and all of its faults
withered away, just as the argument between him and Nancy evaporated into oblivion. The cold fell away to warmth enveloping his
mind. The night was dark and lifeless,
as it had been in a long-time, even the wind did not stir that night. Only the grey wreaths of smoke twirled upwards effortlessly. 

With a grin overtaking his features, he
entered the house. “Life is grand”, he
cerebrated to himself, while knocking off his shoes and coat.

That was the best lasagna that Nancy would ever have, for
Frank came down with Pneumonia and died a few days later. Sometimes women do know what is best for us,
but we (men) are too damn stubborn to listen.

Alternative ending by Skint Writer:

While Frank was enjoying his cigarette in the cool night air, he
lost track of time, staring at the stars, contemplating the endless
beauty of the universe he had the privilege to live in. An hour later
he stretched and yawned, put out his fifth cigarette and went back in
the house to finish the washing up.

Nancy was lying prostrate on the kitchen floor – stone dead. They
said it was carbon monoxide poisoning. Frank made a lovely speech at
the funeral, and he cried a bit, but really he understood – if your
time’s up – it’s up.

The night after the funeral, alone in the house, he went outside for
a smoke. The stars were still there, the air was still cool and
refreshing. He shivered.

Sod this, he thought. I’m going inside for another cigarette. After
all Nancy wasn’t there any more to nag him and the central heating
boiler had been fixed.

Like Frank, I love a cigarette after dinner
(on occasion), but I do have sense enough not to go out in the glacial night
air. Of course, the coldest I’ve seen it
so far this winter, was around 7 degrees Celsius (45 degrees Fahrenheit).