Is There Egg in That Blunt?

By Ali

So in honor of 4/20 I’ve decided to share with you all a lesson that I learned about the pot:

Two years ago I was an occasional smoker, with friends who were quite the opposite. One day we went out to a field to smoke. Why did we choose a wide open field? I’m not sure, but I think it might have had something to do with the fun that comes from rolling in the grass while high.

After walking as far out into the field as we could, my friend rolled perhaps the largest blunt known to mankind. That thing was huge! (Editor’s Note: That’s what she said.) I, being a novice and far from avid smoker, perhaps should have taken the size issue into account. But alas, I did not. Instead, I smoked just as much as the other two. And that was a lot.

When we got up to walk back to the car my legs felt kinda funny. They were melting into the ground, I was sure of it. My friends, whose legs were not melting into the ground, kept stopping and telling told me to hurry up. I tried (even talking to my legs aloud) but there was something terribly wrong with me! My legs were melting! I couldn’t move quickly! Was I going to be like this forever!?

10 hours later – or so it seemed – I made it to the car where my friends were rolling around in the grass laughing at me. And then I realized that my jelly legs were the least of my problems…

My throat started feeling strange, and by “strange” I mean “like it was closing.” I searched my panicky mind for an explanation for my imminent death/panicked about what people would say about me at my funeral. And then it hit me: I am deathly allergic to eggs to the point that eating them makes my throat close. There must have been eggs in the weed! Egg-weed was the only possible explanation.  What should I do? Should I tell my friends? What if I was wrong?

I decided to sit tight and work on my plan of action.

The way I saw it, I had about 30 minutes to save myself. What could I do? I couldn’t get help from my parents – what would they say about my smoking!? I couldn’t go to the police. And my friends were having too much fun singing “Mmmm Bop” to care. I would simply have to deal with this situation myself. When we got to my house I “ran” out of the car and up to my room (jelly legs + stairs = total disaster) to the one thing that could help me: Google.

I sat down on my bed and began feverishly Googling solutions and explanations to my problem. I Googled “eggs + pot” and waited for my problems to be solved. Time was running out and I was getting more panicked. Also, my hands looked HUGE.  My best friend IMed me.“I can’t talk,” I told her. ” I think I’m going to die. I’m Googling it. There were eggs in my pot.” Her reassurances that I was fine (“Did you eat a pot omelette? How is that possible!?) went unnoticed. I was not fine.

My Google search unveiled nothing but magic brownie recipes. While brownies sounded really good at that moment, I didn’t have time to munch; I was dying! My then-boyfriend called me and after I explained that my throat was closing, he rushed over. I thought for sure he was taking me to the hospital, but he picked me up and offered me a real solution: food.  I ate two baskets of bread when I suddenly realized I was actually not dying, that there was no egg in that blunt (it may have been the size of a breakfast burrito, but it was not one) and that, perhaps I had just smoked a little too much.

Me and giant blunts do not get along. Lesson learned.

[If you are planning on celebrating today, be careful! Learn your limits and stick to 'em. Also, bread baskets are awesome when you're stoned.]