Confession, vanity, gluttony, self-reflection

She felt guilt enjoying an occasional cigarette. Then more for pushing it to the front of her mind for confession and for looking down on those smoking more than one a day. Surely she'd worse sins. And of course there was the sin of vanity too. She couldn't dress down for church. She wanted to trust people said the boots and skirtsuit were her and not too much.

But for years she never asked what kind of sin smoking would be. Where to ask? Confession seemed wrong.

She forgot why she blurted out both concerns one day. "I've done worse, but this is bothering me now."

Somehow the priest's assurance she thought about it seriously helped. She didn't think it would. She left the church for a cigarette, returned to kneel at the altar, then left for another. Recalling old and new friends to patch things up with.

She bought a new pricy suit for her next confession. New flaws mentioned to fix, without melodrama. She'd smoked a lot that week. But she cut back to one a day. Twice on confession.