I HAD my first puff of marijuana at age 24 and now I am 72. It’s been an on and off thing since then, and I can’t see any way smoking the stuff has hurt me. I’ve driven under the influence and in my 54 years behind the wheel I have never had a car accident. Okay, so I’ve run a few yellow lights, but that’s because if I stopped, the drunk on my tail would have crashed right into me.
In case you still don’t know, drinking alcohol is far worse than smoking pot. It poses a bigger danger on the road and on the job. Whereas it’s barely noticeable if someone has smoked pot, drinking raises a big neon red flag, to mix a few metaphors. Finally recreational marijuana is legal in many places, and it’s about time. Still, there are some backwards folks who consider it a sure sign of the Devil at work inside you.
I once was friends with one of those backwards folks. Our friendship was already teetering on the edge, but what pushed me over was her gasp of horror when I said my husband and I might go for a quick walk before her other dinner guests arrived, just to smoke a little pot and relax. “Oh God no!” she exclaimed, as if I had suggested pulling out a few syringes and shooting heroin in the middle of her living room. “I have people coming over… I’m running for the president of the Historical Society!! I can’t have that… oh NO!”
I should add that the “historical society” was for a tiny island off the coast of Maine with about 100 houses on it, and that the woman is a proud alcoholic (she thinks it’s endearing to be tipsy) who was drunk within half an hour of the start of the party, as were most of the other guests she was hoping to impress. I’ll stick with my ladylike puff of pot, and nobody ever needs to know when, where or if I did it.
Andrea Rouda blogs at The Daily Droid.