The funniest thing that happened in New York was on the way there. My boyfriend’s mother asked me if I smoked pot.
If it had been anyone else, I would have been totally put on the spot. But since she used to grow it in the childhood home, I was more nervous that she would think I’m weird for not smoking. So, I explained that while I did try it, I really didn’t like it. Maybe I’ll go into it further later, but it makes my throat feel like it is being fried alive and being stoned was never my thing anyway.
The reply was classic, coming from a 67 year old woman I am trying to impress for my boyfriend’s sake: “Oh, that’s just because you only smoked the bad shit. If you smoked good shit, that wouldn’t happen.”
Suddenly, I got a vision of my own mother, shivering suddenly in the warmth of Arizona. She doesn’t know why, but it feels like someone just walked over her grave.family, holiday