Something about this rainy weather has me reminiscing.

Once upon a time, I dated a weed dealer. These were some of the most magical times of my college career. Not only was he a lovely guy, but he had weed. A lot of weed.


Let me tell you what a chill Thursday night looked for me when I dated this gent.

After I would get off work at 11pm, I would rent a movie, and then cycle on home. I would look around at my empty apartment and get a twinge of fomo [Fear Of Missing Out] as my roommates were off cavorting at the bars or whatever, and then I would call my boyfriend. As quick as a wink, the guy would show up at my door, weed and food in hand.

Like, magical.

A joint would be rolled (by me... this is the same boyfriend that lovingly taught me how to roll a joint and then I quickly surpassed him in the skill and became The Joint Roller of our relationship) or maybe sometimes a spliff, the movie would be turned on, and the smoking would begin.

Most of the time I overestimate how much weed I need for good doobie (which is not really a problem), so we'd be high off our asses in point oh two minutes and then the cuddling began. To get high and cuddle is honestly one of the sweetest things in life. I am not affectionate. In fact, I'm a bitch. But something about being tucked in next to a male, watching him quietly inhale the herb and puff out these perfect, fat rings, all casual like, made me want to make babies.

Without making babies.

Moral of the story for those of you out there dating someone who blazes: grab a movie (something uncomplicated), roll yourself a joint, tuck yourself into bed with a man, smoke, then bone.

Simple path to happiness.