When I was 12 years old, my Aunt Staci (actually, she was my cousin) caught me smoking one of the cigarettes from her pack. I guess I was getting to that age where I wanted to be cool.
She was furious. She had been babysitting me for the weekend while my parents and hers went to the beach, and I suppose I was really trying her patience. Staci was a grad student in psychology at the University of Texas but looked more like a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, with her slim body, permed blond hair and deep blue eyes.