Is that an electronic cigarette in your pocket?

Brain tells hand to reach into coat pocket. Hand retrieves what feels like pen. Hands lifts pen-like object to lips. Brain tells mouth to suck. Inhale. Brain is happy. Exhale. Brain is happy. Repeat.
I am addicted and love every minute of it! There are obvious reasons why electronic cigarettes rule: matchless, blue neon light, no stinky clothes. Plus, you can smoke in ridiculous places, like nursing homes, playgrounds and AA meetings.
I know my rules of electronic cigarette etiquette, though. While relaxing on a comfortable rocking chair at my lady doctor's office, I reached into my pocket for a fix. Just as I was about to inhale the sweet smokeless vapor, I noticed a huge pregnant woman with painfully swollen ankles standing nearby. There was no place for her to sit, so in consideration of her condition, I put down my electronic cigarette and continued rocking.
I was never a smoker, unless you count the time in junior high school when on a field trip to release tadpoles into a pond I begged my young substitute teacher for a smoke. I was twelve; she caved. Either I was a really persuasive pre-teen or she was completely disturbed. It was Newports in the schoolyard until high school when we had to go across the street to smoke and that was a drag.
If you're wondering, electronic cigarettes are not like real cigarettes. Real cigarettes are obviously more unhealthy and self-destructive and therefore much more satisfying. They are like Diet Coke, once you get accustomed to that putrid artificial cancer causing sweetener you don't want real sugar. Or like using a vibrator; not like the real thing, but they always deliver.