Yesterday started well enough, but by the time it ended, I felt like the town fool. I was the town fool. Before I tell you what happened, I’ll preface this story by saying that I had surgery for a brain tumor, a few years ago.
In case you were wondering, I survived. But I now take the Arnold Schwarzenegger of brain medications to keep myself ticking.
What did I also find in the box? Two large chocolate macaroons, sitting by their lonesome, next to the chockful o’ nuts.
“Gee,” I said to myself, “When did I make these? 1952? 1983? Last month?” I’d forgotten I had.
Carrying them into the kitchen, I took a bite. It was spectacular! So I took more bites until I’d eaten the whole thing. “I must find that recipe,” I thought. I eyed the second macaroon. “Mmmm …”
But then, being the generous type, I decided to share this unexpected largesse with Himself, all the while secretly hoping he’d pass, so I could eat the second macaroon, too.
“Look what I found in the freezer!” I said, holding out the macaroon.
He looked at it and screamed: “Where’s the other one?”
(“Ahhhhh, this must be his secret stash!” I thought.)
“I ate it,” I beamed.
“No-o-o-o!” he screamed again. “They’re $6 each!”
(So I *hadn’t* made them?) “That’s a lot to pay for macaroons,” I thought.
“They’re CANNABIS!”
“Wha-a-a?” I’ve never used cannabis or any other drug in my life. Except for Arnold Schwarzenegger’s daily medication.
“You ate the whole thing?” he screamed again.
“Yeth,” I said.
“You’re going to get high!”
I blinked. “As in … drugs??? I am! I can feel it! My head’s starting to hurt!”
“Not yet! It’s going to take awhile!”
“Oh,” I said, instantly feeling better.
Himself explained these macaroons were medicinal, but nonetheless contained THC or BBC or whatever it is that gives them their impotence. He said he uses the stuff to offset the headaches he still gets following an accident in which some idiot threw him 5 ft. (metric-schemtric!) off his bike three years ago.
(The driver claimed she couldn’t see him. No wonder … He was wearing a fluorescent vest, a helmet, had front and rear blinking lights on his bike, was in a marked crosswalk and had made eye contact with her. Perhaps she’d overdosed on macaroons.)
I returned to my mushroom-stuffing, fortunately finishing the job before … WHAMMO!
I was instantly 3/4s (or maybe 5/6ths) out of my mind. I can’t bear to think what would have happened if I’d eaten both macaroons. I’d probably have run downtown naked.
This would have fazed no one (except, maybe, our neighbor Mr. Harris, who tends to be the excitable kind. That’s what Mrs. H says, anyway. Mr. Harris is easily excited).
Half our neighbors are growing cannabis in their front yards, bold as brass. Mrs. H even braids it in her hair. She looks like Zeus. Mr. Harris brews cannabis tea. No one wants to drink it because they’re afraid of becoming addicts. Even Mr. Harris won’t drink it. He just wants the neighbors to think he’s “cool.”
For awhile, I couldn’t even talk after eating that macaroon. All I could do was make clicking sounds as I smacked into walls and fell down. I remember thinking to myself: “You shouldn’t sign any contracts right now …”
Said Himself: “It’s impossible to hallucinate on what you’ve just had.”
I told him to tell it to the giraffe. I’d morphed into one and was nibbling leaves at the top of a very tall tree.
I saw and heard things I tried to remember but immediately forgot. I fell asleep for what seemed hours, only to see the clock had advanced just two minutes.
I didn’t make it to the party. Himself did, as I - using some weird new Morse code I’d invented - clicked him to do exactly that.
It took three hours for my head to clear. Even then, when it was time for my evening dose of brain medication, I regressed - looking, behaving, and feeling like a total idiot. I was pretty much okay until I took this morning’s medication, when my mind slowed and my memory slipped.
Clever detective that I am, I realized that anyone on meds as strong as mine should never, ever eat chocolate macaroons.
Even now … I was trying to remember something a minute ago but have already forgotten what I tried to remember.
Worst of all, I was having a Crisis Hair Day. I lassoed an invisible stranger to put an invisible bowl over my head and snip-snip-snip. I now look like Little Lulu, buzzed on macaroons.
© Nicole Parton, 2019
