Today, I tell a very merry story of a grandmother who may or may not reside in a state where medicinal and/or recreational cannabis is legal. This granny, is rather young, and just barely qualifies as an authentic hippie.
“Are you smoking weed?!” The grown daughter asked her mother, through the bedroom door, with equal parts annoyance and amusement.
“It’s incense!” Grandma unlocks and opens the door, waves a box of nag champa in her daughters face.
“What I smell is NOT nag champa, Mom.” A role-reversal takes place, the daughter now chastising the mother, “There are children in the house. Marijuana is a Schedule I drug, according to the federal Controlled Substances Act. As backward as that seems, the reality is that federal law classifies pot as worse than heroin, crack-cocaine and methamphetamine.”
The one-sided conversation continues in the kitchen, as the grandmother dips a tablespoon into a jar of caramel sauce and takes a lick. “Mom! You are straight out lying to me, like a rebellious teenager.”
A couple weeks pass, the grandmother is gift-wrapping tiny little bottles of herbal tinctures. The pretty custom labels are pink, shimmery, and read ‘Green Fairy – Absinthe tincture.’ Grandma explains her tincturing process and that the strain of cannabis extracted has only about 10% THC. She ties a bow on a box and slides one to her daughter with a magical Santa Claus twinkling wink. Mari(juana) Christmas!
Relatablely-Uncensored 