No more cancer sticks means I can wash my Sportsgirl skinny jeans less!

Is it so wrong that today, on my tram ride home, I smirked to myself when I saw people standing outside Long Room and Bar Open and the Cape in the freezing rain lighting up? That I chuckled silently and relished in their shivers? That I enjoyed the payback for all those summer nights with a smoky pillow and smoky hair? For all the laundry detergent I used washing things that weren't dirty? For all the (expensive) Febreeze I sprayed on my pashminas? For all the gross cigarette remnants left on bathroom floors that made me throw up in my mouth? For all the sneezes?

No, it's not wrong. Not wrong at all.

Melbs, it's about time.

Hooray!