Ooookaaay. Now that we've got that out of the way, let's get on with it.
I was reading the Reader's Digest for the current year, and there was an article called "What Mall Santas Don't Want You to Know". In the article, one Santa shared that, when bouncing sticky toddlers on their velveteen laps taking gift requests that boys were direct. "I want a pogo stick and a remote control airplane." The girls, on the other hand, had a need to explain:
"I want pony 'cause ponies are just so gosh darn cute! And then we could go for rides in the country with my frilly white nightgown flowing majestically behind me and I would call him Twitterpat, and he would be mine. And he would be my Twitterpat."
With this in mind, I post a portion of the Lorlor's recently released Christmas list:
- house plant (must survive on little sun/water, be VERY hard to kill .... like if the Terminator was a house plant...)
- stickers(you CAN'T go wrong with stickers)
- front bike light (I have a Bell brand one, but don't feel like it does a very good job... maybe because I dropped it and put it back together with Elmer's glue)
- pot (medium to large, a good size for making soup and the lot)
Although it's true "you can't go wrong with stickers", I find the explanation of the front bike light akin to the little girl wondering why the frog she dunked in boiling water to kill the germs isn't moving.
Then I see pot.
She wants pot!
My poor leetle seester I send off to college and she's already past alcohol and into drugs! And she wants a medium to large amou--
Oh. Wait. Cooking pot. Heh heh heh. Then I look back up at the top of the list. She wants a houseplant. Presumably in a pot. Weeds are plants. Weeds are called pot. And I assume you could make pot soup... (in a pot...)
Not that I have all sorts of experience with that noble substance. (Reduces nausea! Cures Headaches! Fixes Insomnia! It's Like Magic! Oh. And it can get you fired from your job too...)
There I was, sitting outside a movie theater waiting for my roommate (minding my own business...duh) and this dude came up a bit behind me. I turned around to keep him in sight; you can never be too careful you know.
He smiled at me and the following happened:
Him: Are those dreadlocks?
Me: No....just curly hair that isn't particularly styled...(ie, I wasn't concerned with being presentable and had just patted at it till it resembled less horns and more general confusion)
Him: Oh. I was hoping they were dreadlocks.
Me: (smile. silence.)
Him: 'Cause if they were dreadlocks, I figured you would know where I could get some weed.
Me: (confused. silence.)
Him: Do you know where I could get some weed?
Me: No...sorry....(not entirely sure why I apologized....maybe my hotel persona wanting to help someone get what they wanted..)
Him: Oh, ok. Thanks anyway.
So, gentle beings, does anyone have the idea behind the "dreadlocks for weed" campaign? Is this just a stereotype, or does it actually have basis in fact?
I was actually hoping someone would offer me some. I have hoped for this all my life. My dream, if you will.
Why you ask?
Fourth Grade. When all young children receive beautiful red pencils that say "Don't Do Drugs!" to be whittled down to the even more alluring "Do Drugs!".
I want to make Mrs. Morris proud and say "No!"
Talk about indoctrination :D