Caught Green-Handed

So last night, the inevitable happened.

My mom caught me smoking weed. 

About a week ago, this might have caused me a heart attack, considering my mom is the angel of innocence and my dad is so against anything harmful I do to my voice (I'm a singer). But my uncle recently confessed to me that back in the glory days, my mom would engage in some less-than-kosher activities involving the plant.

So here is what happened:

I really wanted to smoke and chill in my room. It was 2:30 in the morning and my mom was still up, doing work on her computer. I decided I would risk it anyways, so I brought my kitten into my room and told my mom not to come in and steal her (she is doting on the cat like mad!) because she would disturb me and I was going to sleep. Lame excuse, hoping it would work, but considering my mother's usual refusal to listen to anything logic from her kids, she came barging in anyways to get the cat. And when she came in, I was sitting up in bed, listening to Sufjan Stevens, joint lowered and out. She pushed the door open, it got stuck on the towel that was jammed into the space, she looked down at it, sniffed the air, and said, "What are you smoking?"

And I said: "Nothing."

BAAAAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAA.

So then she left. And I was so surprised that she wasn't mad, wasn't upset, wasn't even shocked. I don't really know how she felt.

This afternoon my dad came to pick me up from the hairdressers, and I know he would eventually bring it up in some awkward way, and this is how it happened:

Me: "I think I am going to go to a concert tonight. One of those five dollar things. Maybe I will go to Sablo Café, you know, that reggea thing I went to twice. They had a workshop last night... but I don't know, I just didn't go."

Dad: "Were you smoking a joint in your room last night?"

Me: "Yeah..."

Dad: "How long has this been going on?"

Me: "Well it is only every once and a while, for the past few years now... like every normal teenager turned young adult."

Dad: "Where do you get it? Do you buy a baggie of grass or something?"

Me: "Dad!"

Dad: "What, I want to know! You buy it in a baggie?"

Me: "Dad, I am not talking about this with you."

Dad: "Why not? It's not like we're talking about sex."

Me: "I think this might be even worse."

And then we changed subjects! Whew. I got off the hook easy... so far. Because if I know my parents well, and I do, they will bring this up at random moments, use it as blackmail or guiltripping, hit me below the belt later on.

Oh well. Maybe they understand me a little better now.

xx

Anne