You know, I had a Wordless Wednesday all ready to post and go to bed.
And then, I went into my garage on the way to the car to take Pookah to daycare.
And I smelled weed.
Weed. Marijuana, Mary Jane………
Now, in my distant distant misguided youth, I may have experimented a time or two with the stickiest of the icky. .
But I’m grown now. I’ve got a job. That can ask me to pee in a cup anytime they feel like it.
Not so much.
Not to say that he is a weed head. Or that he occasionally indulges.
Remember this incident when he was laid off?????
So I knew that he was a past connoisseur of the herb.
But I thought it was just that: the past.
I thought he learned his lesson the last time.
I mean, other than say when you go to Jamaica on vacation and some guy in the middle of the ocean offers you some of Jamaica’s finest wrapped in a plastic bags………………
But I digress.
My point is, I smelled it.
In my garage.
At 830 in the morning.
I know what weed smells like…..my patients baby daddy’s always always smell like it, and I grew up in DC dammit.
And it was that good shit too.( Don’t ask how I know that)
The point is, I KNOW.
But I’m not supposed to smell that shit in my own damn garage!!! We grown!!!!
WHAT THE HELL????????
And then he had the nerve to try to act like I didn’t know what I was talking about.
Finally, it comes out: he’s stressed. I can’t give him any sex( still 1 1/2 week to go on the no sex). I won’t “relieve” him.
Excuse my french here but
Mutha F**** please!
I’m so mad I could drive the 40 miles to his job and beat.His.ASS!!!!!!!!
But instead, I’m going to have a nice glass of wine to calm my nerves and go to sleep.
And pray I don’t get a phone call……………..
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