I Smoked Pot

My house mate had pot, what can I say?

I had just stopped smoking, what had it been, a day? What was I to say when Nigel was sitting there with all the paraphernalia when I got home, looking quite pleased with himself.

“For the weekend,” he said. “I got it for us for the weekend.”

“That’s great,” I said. 

I tried to quickly think how I was going to do this and still keep my quitting smoking integrity intact? Do you like that? My quitting smoking integrity? And, you know, pretty quickly I realised that that wasn’t going to be possible unless I said no to the pot altogether, but very quickly I was coming to the realisation that that wouldn’t be possible either. I mean, Nigel was sitting there looking so pleased with himself, like he done the two of us the best favour that was possible, it would be mean spirited of me to spoil that.

“Do you have any cigarettes?” asked Nigel.

“No, no I’m out,” I said. Why I said I was out and not that I’d given up, I don’t know. I guess on some very base level I didn’t want to jeopardise my pot smoking options over the weekend. So, I said I was out.

“Oh, never mind, I bought a packet just for the joints, but I must have left it upstairs.” 

Nigel scurried away like an excited school boy on camp and I was left to stare at that lovely big bag of green sitting there on the coffee table. I picked it up, the bag was already open, and took a big sniff. Oh, there is nothing like a fresh bag of pot aroma to get my pot smoking juices going. I put it back down on the coffee table before Nigel re-appeared with the packet of cigarettes.

I had to decide there and then if I was going to say no to the pot. But, to tell you the truth, that sniff of the bag did me in. How could I say no after that? Oh, who am I kidding, I was never going to say no.

Nigel rolled several joints happily with his nimble fingers with a big smile plastered all over his face.

He handed me a joint and he had a joint for himself. He lit mine and then he lit his.

We sat on the couch side by side, with heavy eyes talking shit for the rest of the night.

Nigel kept a steady stream of joints going for both of us. We continually had one each until we were so thoroughly shit-faced we couldn't speak at all.

It was a great night.