Tuesday, March 18, 2014

No, I'm not as smart as a fifth grader.

Seriously?  Ha!  That's what you, my dear friends and readers, think!

The answer is an undeniable, unequivocal, NO!  I don't have all the answers.  I damn near thought I did several days ago but that theory went to Hell in a hay basket.  I suppose for the few who have not been informed of my error I will retell the story - painful as it may be - to keep everyone well notified of my gross miscalculation.  *Deep Sigh*  I shall begin.

Colorado, as well as Washington, are progressive states in that we the people have voted to legalize Marijuana.  I, myself, do not partake in it often; however, on a social basis I have been known to smoke small amounts or consume a bit of a tasty treat embedded with the organic material.

At a recent local party, within walking distance to my house, I was unwise to drink several strong alcoholic beverages.  This usually isn't an issue for me yet I ate 3/4 of a very large medicinal brownie within a span of an hour during the same time I consumed these drinks.  Now I've been told, after the fact of course, that 1/4 of these delicious treats would have sufficed for the entire evening.  I like brownies.  Let me retract that statement:  I LOVE brownies and this particular brownie happened to be very tasty.  I actually resented my dear friend with whom I had shared the other 1/4 with.  It's true.  I'm ashamed to admit it.

So, having all the answers, I believed that the brownie and two extremely powerful drinks within the span of an hour had no affect on me whatsoever.  Why was I sitting on the floor of the host's house staring at my stocking feet?  Well, that was simple.  Anyone with half a brain could tell I was examining my socks to see if the white fluff was truly fluff or if I had a hole in my socks.  A hole would be most unfortunate and it would upset me to the point of having to ask my hostess to borrow a pair of black socks.  Anyone would understand that.  What I didn't understand was why people were looking at me funny, weirdos.  Geesh!

Then, it all fell into place.  I saw my handsome husband standing with his brother and a friend talking.  I knew the answer.  I loved my husband.  I loved Eric so much that I wanted to go home to be with him.  It didn't matter that it was snowing.  It didn't matter that I forgot to put my shoes on.  It didn't matter that I left my coat in the closet.  AND it certainly didn't matter that Eric was still at the party.  I had all the answers.  I was going home to Eric (who wasn't home), in the snow, in my stocking feet, without my coat, with the biggest, stupidest grin on my face one would never want to see again.  From that point I remember crawling up the stairs, lying in front on my bedroom door (we lock it because of our kids) and being licked by my dogs until my husband came home and got me into bed a half hour later.

Yes, I have all the answers.  Right.  My dear friends and readers, you haven't lived until you've been licked for thirty minutes in awkward places by two small dogs.  Trust me.  I know absolutely NOTHING except I have a new relationship with my dogs that I never wanted.