THE PROBLEM WITH EDIBLES

You've probably noticed that over the past year, cheerful little shops with names like Nature's Care, Sunnyside, and the Greenhouse have popped up all over Chicago and the suburbs. These brightly-lit stores have black and white walls, gleaming teak floors, sparkling glass cases, and displays as colorful as a Disneyland gift shop. Yes, we're talking about cannabis dispensaries. 

Our friends, like most Boomers, have been heading to the shops in droves. Even my 88-year-old mother has been seen marching through the doors of her local dispensary, merrily waving her medical marijuana card. 

My husband and I have been a bit more hesitant. See, a little over a year ago, my oldest son thought it would be cute to gift his dear old mom and dad with a small batch of special brownies. He warned us that they might be a little stronger than they'd been back when we were in school. Now, I'd never really done that kind of thing in college because I am a spectacularly boring individual. My husband HAD done that kind of thing, but then he married me. The brownies sat in our refrigerator for weeks. 

One night, though, we decided that--what the heck--we'd try them. We positioned ourselves on the family room couch, took a few bites, and waited nervously. Time passed.

"You feeling anything?" asked my husband. 

"Nope. You?" 

"Nothing." 

We waited a little longer. Then my husband ventured a theory. 

"Maybe we've gotten immune or something." 

"Maybe. Should we have one more?" 

My husband shrugged. "Why not?" 

A short time later, I found myself in the kitchen, convinced that the counters needed to be wiped down immediately. This, despite the fact that I have a superhuman ability to ignore crumbs and spills for days at a time. Anyhow, I got out a sponge and moved it along each granite surface with the dedication of a forensics specialist dusting for fingerprints. Then I went around the entire kitchen again. And again. And again. Because I wasn't sure where the countertop ended. 

After a while, I put the sponge away…somewhere…and opened a drawer. There I found a pair of cheese spreaders that we'd been given as gifts about ten years before, but that still had two twisty-ties holding them onto a piece of cardboard. I decided that it was very important that I finally undo the twisty-ties.

 

Twenty minutes later I was still undoing the twisty-ties. That's when my husband wandered into the room. I use the word "wandered" very literally. 

"Where'd you go?" he asked. 

"I went here." 

"Why?" 

I paused. "I don't know." 

"So what are you doing now?" 

"I'm trying to undo these twisty-ties, but they just keep staying twisted." 

My husband leaned over and stared intently at the ties. 

"Let me try." 

Twenty more minutes passed. We were no closer to our goal. 

"I think you retwisted them," I said, after careful analysis. "Want me to try again?" 

My husband nodded and went back to wandering. Shortly afterwards, I heard a thunk. I turned around to see him bent over the kitchen island, his forehead on the granite counter. 

"What's wrong?"
 

"My head fell down and I can't pick it up." 

At that point, he started giggling. And then I started giggling. And then we collapsed on the floor and continued giggling until we decided it was time to eat a whole bag of Doritos. Along with a package of Chips Ahoy cookies. I believe whipped cream and a bottle of Hershey's syrup may also have been involved. 

Anyhow, that's why we're not racing to the Greenhouse or Sunnyside or any of those other places. Next time we might hurt ourselves.

  

DON'T GO IN THE KITCHEN!!

I’m frightened. I’m frightened because I've realized my kitchen is evil and sometimes comes to life. At night. In the dark. 

Even worse, I'm powerless against it. Because (clever thing that it is) the Kitchen knows when I am at my most vulnerable. It's when my rear makes contact with the family room couch, and my thumb pushes the remote, and the TV begins to glow. This fatal combination awakens whatever is haunting the next room. 

“My dearest friend,” the Kitchen begins, its seductive voice containing more than a trace of an English accent, kind of like the guy who played Lucifer on TV. “I fear for your health. You know you didn’t have enough to eat for dinner tonight.” 

I think about the mountain of Mongolian Beef, fried rice, egg rolls, and egg foo young that were on my plate less than an hour before. And yet, perhaps because of that irresistible English voice, I find myself saying, “You’re right, Kitchen. I didn’t.” 

“Well, there is no need to suffer. Come. Come to me.” And I find myself pressing pause on the remote, rising to my feet, and moving blindly into the Kitchen, where I am soon scarfing down a half carton of fried rice. 

Eventually I head back to the couch, determined not to be tempted again. But the Kitchen is not satisfied. As soon as the next commercial comes on, the voice whispers, “There's still some egg foo young.” 

“Saving it for lunch tomorrow,” I mutter. 

“No need,” says Kitchen. “I’ll provide you with something else at that time.” 

A few minutes later, the container is empty, and I’m back on the couch. But then… 

“Popcorn,” says the Kitchen. 

“What?” 

“There is a bag of popcorn in one of my cabinets.” 

“No. Can’t do it. If I open it, I’ll eat it all.” 

“And that’s fine. It’s Skinny Pop. It doesn’t count.” 

I give this some thought. 

“You're right. It doesn’t." And I return. 

Soon there are disfigured popcorn crumbs dotting the floor and filling the cowl of my turtleneck, and I’m feeling pretty sick. But that doesn't matter. Not to...him.

“This Is Us is a rerun tonight, isn't it?” says the Kitchen sympathetically. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

“I know that must disappoint you. But I can help. I'm quite sure there are some Jello pudding cups left in the refrigerator.” 

“No, there aren’t. I looked this afternoon.” 

“Let me just check.” There’s a hum from the other room. “Even better! I found little containers of peach yogurt at the back of the bottom shelf. So healthy. I care about you, you see." 

“Yes, I know you do,” I say, smiling. And I’m off for the yogurt. And that’s when the Kitchen becomes even more diabolical, but somehow I don’t realize it. 

“You know, I don't think you had anything for dessert. I’m sure there must be some Double-Stuf Oreos in one of my cabinets. Perhaps hidden away by your husband?” 

“But the Oreos are bad for me, Kitchen. That's why he hides them.” 

“Are they truly bad, though? Are they any worse than, say, a combination of fried rice, egg foo young, popcorn, and yogurt?” 

“You may have a point.” 

“Good. Then come. Come search for the Oreos.” The voice becomes impish. “Think of it as a game. Look in the ice buckets. The casserole dishes. The cereal boxes. I'm sure you'll find them.” (Note to my husband: if you're reading this, you now know how I figure out all of your hiding places. The Kitchen tells me.) 

And it's not over. I know that, in just a bit, the Kitchen will tell me to have some cereal before bed. He'll say that cereal is healthy, and the milk will help me sleep. And I’ll believe him. I’ll believe him. 

So apparently, we need to move from this place. It’s my only hope. That, or we hire an exorcist.

THE BEAR AND I:TWENTY YEARS FROM NOW

So, my husband and I recently celebrated our wedding anniversary. And since we've been married over forty years and have been told we're kind of adorable together--I mean, I still call him Fuzzy Bear--we decided that it might be really, really nice if we could be together for at least twenty more!

But then I had a dream. It was 20 years in the future. Only…we weren't in the little villa we'd talked about buying. Or in a condo in the city soaking up culture. Or even in Denver, where the kids keep threatening to move with the grandkids.

Nope. We were at Sedgebrook Senior Living Community. 

In my dream, we were in the dining room. I have gray hair--after all, Why the hell should I waste good money on a dye job every six weeks?--and I’m wearing a pink jogging suit. My husband has NO hair, except for what’s sprouting from his ears and nose, and he's wearing a pajama top he's convinced is a shirt.  (Though, to be fair, that happens a lot now, too.) And we’re talking in big print because we’re old. 

ME: Hmmm. So, what are we gonna have to eat? 

 

HIM: We’re having beets? I don’t like beets. 

No. Eat. What do you want to eat? 

You can smell my feet? 

Turn up your damn hearing aid! 

You lost an earring? 

NO, I DIDN’T…. Never mind. Just look at the menu. Wait. Where are my glasses? 

Who has nice asses? Hold on, I need to turn up this damn hearing aid. Okay, so who has nice asses? 

No, I said, where are my glasses? 

On your head. 

How long have they been there? Oh, wait, I meant to tell you! They’re going to be showing Godfather in the social hall tonight. 

Godfather was last month.

No, I don’t think so. Wait, look over there. Isn't that... 

Yeah, it’s Laren and Marlene. 

They look nice. We should try to meet them. 

It’s Laren and Marlene! We’ve known them for 60 years. Laren was best man at our wedding. 

Oh, Laren and Marlene! Maybe if I could see them better… I’ll put on my glasses. Hmmm. Where are my glasses? 

Still on your head. 

Oh, okay, that’s better. Now, who are those people? 

Laren and Marlene, gah-dammit!! 

Don’t yell! You know I've never been good with faces. Maybe they’d like to see a movie with us tonight. Did I tell you they’re showing Godfather in the social hall? 

Yeah, and I told you, that was LAST MONTH! 

I don’t think so. Now, where are my glasses? 

You’re wearing them!!!!! Look, I don’t want any dinner. I got a poker game in a few minutes. 

You always have a poker game! Morning, noon, and night you have a poker game. You can skip this one. 

I can’t. They can’t have a game without me. 

You always say that, and yes they can. They’ll find someone in two seconds. This place is crawling with old farts playing poker. 

I DON'T CARE. I WANNA PLAY POKER!! 

You’re not going. 

Yes I am! 

No, you're not.

I’M GONNA PLAY POKER AND YOU CAN’T STOP ME!  

Oh yes, I can! I have the key to your scooter. 

GAH-DAMMIT!

That's when I woke up. I told my husband about the dream. And we've decided to see how the next few years go before committing to another twenty.