The next person who tells me exercise is good for managing stress is getting my angry eyes. Maybe I’ll kick some dirt in their direction too.
To the empty room, I whine like a pathetic sap. “If only there were a pill I could take that would chill me the frick out. They can put a man on the moon but can’t...“ The cliche fizzles on my tongue.
Eureka!
I scamper across the room to retrieve the little savior Kenzie slipped into my purse. Thankfully, the anxiety-relieving gummy is right where I left it, hidden in a mint tin.
“Help me, Delta 9, you’re my only hope.”
While chewing it, I grimace from the unusual taste. As I chase it down with some water, I realize I’ve been hanging out with an FBI agent while carrying a gummy of questionable legality.
And I’ve now consumed it inside his home.
But wait. There’s more.Given my embarrassingly low tolerance for anything mood-altering, I’ll be drooling all over him when he gets home. Not in the sexy way.
He’s gonna make me pee in a cup, I just know it. That’s the only thing this day is missing—me, handing my urine to the man of my dreams.
Pause. Rewind.Is there a sexy way to drool on someone?
I’ll never know. Given Florida’s puritanical status, I don’t have access to enough porn to answer that question.
Nestling into the couch, I wrap myself in a blanket and take comfort in the knowledge that relief is coursing through my bloodstream. Netflix keeps me company.
Twenty minutes later, I convince myself this gummy is a dud.
Thirty minutes after that, I decide I was a bit too hasty.
Warmth traverses my body, and my thoughts steadily become less oppressive. My mouth is weirdly thicker than it was a few minutes ago. Other than that, I feel sober.
The chirp of my cell phone signals an incoming text. Shockingly, I’m not compelled to curl into the fetal position. Perhaps the gummy is working. Either that or it’s a placebo effect. Still counts.
Dirty Dimples:
Checking in again. I should be home in about two or three hours. You still good?
Me:
Still alive.
Not funny.
It would be if you had a sense of humor. Alas, you’re the man you are.
I snicker to myself while swiping to Silas’ message. I hastily fire off a reply.
Me:
No longer interested in meeting with you. Have the life you deserve.
My shoulders shimmy involuntarily.Take that, vagrant.
Inspired by the THC-induced confidence, I reply to Kenzie next. Might as well check everything off my list before I return to flustercluck status.
For those who don’t self-deprecate whimsically, that’s a flustered chicken.
Me:
Don’t worry about me. I’m safe.
