Dear Lungs,

I’m sorry.

I know that’s a pathetic apology, considering all that you do for me and the gang. I mean, without you, I wouldn’t be here. [Yes, you guys are all real important, too, Brain, Heart, Nerves and Colon. Stop interrupting. I’m trying to talk with Lungs.] So believe me when I say that I wish I hadn’t put you through that abuse last night.

I’m not sure if it matters, but if I had known that the entire family would be smoking inside the house, I wouldn’t have taken the job. Photography money’s good, but it’s not that good. Seriously. If I had known, I would have turned it down. It’s not like what I would just take a hammer to you. I wouldn’t destroy you on purpose. Besides, it’s pretty hard to get good images from Grandma’s 75th birthday party when everybody’s just sitting around drinking Budweiser and watching Nascar. [No, Brain, it didn’t make any sense to me, either. No, I don’t know how Tony Stewart could win the Nextel Cup by losing last night’s race. And no, I have no idea whose idea it was to make a sport out of bootlegging moonshine.]

I’d like to give you some sort of treat for putting up with me. But what do you buy for lungs? There aren’t many gift-giving guides out there for this kind of thing. Do you like exercise? Hate it? What about oxygen? More or less? How about helium? It makes the Voice sound funny, but is that something that entertains you?

Anyway, think of something you’d like and let me know. Anything you want. As long as it doesn’t cost money.

Much love,
robert