And by chronic, I don't mean chronic back aches or the
Chronicles of Narnia. I mean THE chronic.
So, let me start at the beginning. Robbie got flat screen TV for Christmas (partly from me, mostly from himself) which has been set up in our "den" (our back room which I like calling a "den" because it sounds fancy). This has caused us to spend much more time in the den, which is inconveniently located next to our neighbors nightly-weed-smoking-spot. We have lived in our apartment since April, but since we are now enjoying the new TV more in the den, we now notice the strong smell of marijuana each evening around 10 o'clock.
And I'm not just talking about your everyday weed - this is STRONG smelling stuff. Very potent. It was making me sick. I told Robbie to go and talk to the gentlemen engaged in smoking marijuana. He was all suited up in his hat and coat, reading to go into battle, but hesitated at the door. I knew what he was thinking, so I was a nice wife: "Do you want me to go talk to them? Do you think they'll be nicer to a girl?"
"Maybe."
"Ok, I'll do it."
A Side Note
I also had another factor on my side besides my femininity:
- I have been very sick
- I have been extremely tired
- I have been highly emotional (which is basically my normal self)
- And I have recently noticed a very slight waddle to my step
Yep . . . I'm pregnant!! (17 weeks to be exact)
So, that was the second reason for me going to talk to the "smokers" upstairs, since I was a girl and could play that ever powerful pregnant card. (And, oh yes, I played it!) I heroically ventured into the lions den . . . full of weed.
I walked up to the porch directly above our apartment. The interaction went a little something like this: "Hey guys, I'm Sarah and I live below you. Um, I don't want to be a party pooper . . . but we can smell your . . . smoke, every night and its really strong. I'm pregnant and its been making me sick. I hope you don't mind finding another place to . . . smoke. Sorry, guys."
Luckily, they were pretty cool about it, and I think just generally glad that we weren't calling the cops or our building manager and talking to them first. They gave a few slow and semi-slurred apologies, and that was that.
Problem solved. No more smell of "the chronic" while watching The Office or doing homework.
However, the "problem" of the preganay just seems to be getting bigger- If you catch my drift.
And by chronic, I don't mean chronic back aches or the Chronicles of Narnia. I mean THE chronic.