Like many embarrassing stories, this one begins with the imbibing of an intoxicating substance.

Look, I don't have anything against marijuana, or people who smoke it. I just know myself well enough to know that ME + WEED = DISASTER.

It makes me so stupid. Like, can't produce a coherent thought kind of stupid. And to be honest, the high doesn't even feel that great to me. It's like a prickly fuzzy-headedness, like static on a TV screen.

I know this is the point where some of you veteran smokers are going to start coming up with objections--maybe I just haven't been smoking good weed. Maybe I need to try a different strain. No. I promise you that's not it. I have smoked good weed. I have smoked bad weed. I have tried edibles and those vaporizer thingies. I have smoked indica and sativa strains, and they all make me feel like a particularly unintelligent pebble. The only difference with dirt weed is that in addition to making me practically catatonic, it also gives me a headache.

It took several flirtations with disaster before I finally got it through my head that I should not, under any circumstances whatsoever, smoke herb. Even though I knew that it would paralyze my mental faculties and cause me to do something completely moronic, I still used to partake once in awhile--maybe two or three times a year. But the last time I smoked weed, I did something so stupid that it convinced me never to do it again.

One summer, years ago, I went on a long road trip with a good friend of mine to visit her family in another state. We were staying at her brother's house, and their mom would come over and cook us these fabulous meals almost every night. My friend, her brother and I spent the days chilling outside by the pool or riding four wheelers, and then we'd come in and eat this amazing mom-food and watch movies or play games until time for bed. And every night my friend and her brother would smoke a lot of weed, and I wouldn't because I like to avoid disaster when at all possible.

But one evening, one of them offered me the bowl and I took a big, long toke. I don't know why I did it. I guess just to feel more a part of the festivities, and because I was tired of saying "no, thanks" every time the pipe came my way. And then, since I'd already puffed once, I puffed again for good measure.

That night their mom made slow cooker ribs, corn on the cob, and some kind of delicious noodly concoction. Everyone was saying how good and tender the meat was, but I thought it was just slightly on the tough side. However, the flavor was amazing so I didn't mention anything about the toughness. As usual, I cleaned my plate and had seconds. (Did I mention my friend's mom is a REALLY GOOD COOK?) I might have had thirds.

After dinner, I helped wash the dishes and, to my immense relief, I didn't do anything super clumsy like break a plate or spill soapy water on the floor. I felt extremely tired; probably because of the weed, I figured. It always does that to me. Plus it was only a matter of time before I committed an act of herb-induced stupidity. So I went to bed early instead of staying up with my friend and her brother to chat and watch movies.

In the middle of the night, I awoke to an ungodly painful cramp in my gut. I lay there writhing and groaning, trying not to wake anyone up, but unable to not writhe and groan. It hurt so bad, I thought I might need to go to the hospital. What was this? My high had worn off, so I was now capable of thinking, at least. I performed a mental assessment of the day before. Had I come into contact with anyone who was sick? No, not to my knowledge. Had I perhaps gotten food poisoning? Doubtful. Was there a chance I was experiencing kidney failure? Or an exploding colon? That's a thing, right? Could it be that I'd just eaten too much? Like many people, I have a tendency to overeat when I'm high. And I had eaten two, or possibly three platefuls of the wonderful dinner, cleaning my plate each time.

Wait--

I CLEANED MY PLATE.

...MY PLATE OF RIBS.

YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO CLEAN YOUR PLATE WHEN YOU EAT RIBS.

THERE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE BONES LEFT OVER WHEN YOU'RE DONE EATING RIBS.

...THAT IS WHY THEY ARE CALLED RIBS.

So that's why the meat had seemed tough. It wasn't tough meat, it was fucking bones that had been softened by several hours of slow-cooking. And I must have eaten at least six or eight of these bones.

I spent the next sixteen hours doubled over in pain. When everyone else woke up, they were concerned for me. Embarrassed, I admitted what I'd done and of course, that gave everyone a good, hearty laugh and became fodder for many future jokes at my expense. (I wasn't offended--I would have laughed at me, too, except I felt like I was going to die.)

Once I figured out the cause of the pain, I wasn't as freaked out. I figured it would pass, eventually. I was just a tiny bit worried that a bone shard might impale my intestinal wall, causing me to go into toxic shock. Luckily, that didn't happen. The pain gradually lessened and then passed, and that was the worst of it. I couldn't poop for two days, but I lived to tell the tale.

On the bright side, I probably ingested enough calcium and phosphate to last me about a decade in that one meal.

I realize that this is a reaction that's probably peculiar to me. I know that smoking weed does not turn every individual, and probably not even most, into a bumbling idiot who is a danger to themselves. I have friends who operate successful businesses, write code, and teach mathematics at the collegiate level, all while high as a kite. So I know that is a thing other people do. It's just that I can't do it. And I'm okay with that.

I haven't partaken of the cannabis plant since then, and I don't intend to ever do so in the future, unless it is required for life-saving medical purposes. I figure if that ever happens, I'll probably be bedridden, so I won't be able to do anything too stupid.

Thank you for reading!

Hi! My name is Leslie Starr O'Hara, but I go by Starr. I live in the mountains of North Carolina and I write fiction, satire, humor, and the odd anarchist think piece here on Steemit. Follow me if you're interested in stuff about sci-fi, writing, homeschooling, productivity, or just stuff that will make you laugh your britches off.

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