Know Smoking

“You can do it to your heart’s contents,” she said, when I’d asked her if she’d minded my smoking.
   “Surely you mean my heart’s conTENT?” I said.
   “Your heart’s a tent?” she said. “That explains a lot.”
   “No, my heart’s not a tent, and what does it explain?” I said.
   “Well, if your heart isn’t a tent, it doesn’t explain anything,” she said, “though it baffles me why you said it was in the first place.”
 
At this point, I lit a cigarette, blew smoke in her face, and left.
   “Smoke isn’t blue, it’s grey,” she said, as I walked away.
 
(4^th August, or was it 3^rd? Banjos-dels-Hairspray)