Sugar High: Our 1st and (…next to) Last Edible Adventure
I said there’d be a story about edibles. I am nothing if I am not a woman of my word. The details of this story are pretty spot on. But given the nature of the situation, I am sure I am leaving something out or adding something in. After consulting with my co-conspirator, let’s go with this account retold with 90% accuracy.
Let me begin by giving a little context:
First off, before this Mary Jane adventure, my entire experience with weed consisted of one pathetic attempt in high school. Prom night, 1997. Theme: *One in a Million*. Outcome: *Zero in a Million*. I didn’t get high—just choked, reeked of regret, and washed it down with terrible, cheap prom night liquor.
Second, I'm not sure what we thought the outcome of all this was going to be. My husband is not a weed smoker either. We went into this blindly, basing it on rumors and what we had seen on TV.
Two dummies. Pretty much. But anyway…
Fast Forward. The year was 2021.
It’s a child-free Friday night on the heels of my serendipitous discovery that one of the neighborhood moms was a “specialty” baker. By serendipitous, I mean I went over there for something totally unrelated and smelled the scent that needs no introduction and the unmistakable smell of baked goods. I know a cake when I smell it. Plus I am nosy, so I inquired. She offered. And the next thing I knew, I was clicking my heels, walking home with a sampler’s delight of infused sour belts, strawberry mini cupcakes, and popsicles.
As I left, she casually mentioned, "Oh yeah, don’t eat *insert Charlie Brown teacher voice*... and strong...okay?"
Me: Okay, girl!
Need A Lil Baby Who Gone Listen (- Kodak Black).