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Your good friends at How to Get Rid of Weed Smell, we hope you know, would never advocate any form of illegal activity. One can hardly but notice, though, that these days, such a large number of American (and other) jurisdictions have marijuana decriminalized. Whether the explanation is medical or recreational, a concern with getting rid of weed's distinctive odor nowadays is just good housekeeping. You'd think Martha Stewart would be covering this stuff!
A dinner invitation to your employer, a next door neighbor, or your in-laws, shouldn't be an aromatically awkward occasion. It doesn't matter if it's legal; some people just remain uncomfortable, for whatever reason, with marijuana smoking. At that point, the choices are trying to change other people's values and preferences to your own - an undertaking equally as notable for its futility as for its vanity - or you can just exercise a little discretion.
I say, if it happens in personal space let it stays in personal space. After all, that's really what personal space is all about, right?
Perhaps somewhat ironically, though, many who today exercise just such conscientious aromatic discretion learned our lesson the hard way, under different circumstances. During my all too misspent youth, in my hometown, there was no doubt about that fact that pot was illegal. Maybe I'm prone to look back with rose colored glasses, but there does seem to have been a kind of innocence to it all which has since been lost. Regardless, it was still verboten.
On this one occasion I recall with amusement, my parents were away for several days. I had my girlfriend of the time, Kimmy (ah, Kimberley, the stories I could tell, but let's not digress) and my good, but rather permanently pot addled pal Dave over. We were sitting in the living room. This incidentally was one of those living rooms from the mid to late 20th century in where the furniture was all covered in plastic. I don't know if younger people today can imagine such a thing. Surely no one today does that. If you know of anyone who still has a living room that is treated as a museum and has all the soft furniture covered in plastic, do let me know in the comments section. I'd be fascinated to hear.
Well, cutting to the chase, the parents were not expected back for a good 24 hours, but us three, only recently imbibing from Dave's bottomless stash, lounging on the plastic, were jolted from our smoky slumbers by the sound of keys prodding at the lock of the front door. Taken so off guard, I was utterly dazed and confused, and Dave rarely moved too far out of a semi-comatose state, but good old Kimmy, like the superstar she was sprung into action. In an instant she'd bolted across the room and with arms flying about at turbo speed flung open all the living room windows. The she made like a streak of lightening over to where Dave of conked out and in a flourish swooped up the various pieces of his weed kit off the coffee table and stuffed it inside his jacket. I can still picture his laughingly startled expression.
Now, I know that some of you are going to doubt the veracity of this next part. I confess I can't be completely sure of it myself, but what I recollect was that at this point Kimmy darted to the distant end of the room and proceeded to expel tempestuous gusts of exhalation right across the living room, blasting all lingering odor of recent weed straight out of the gaping windows at the other end of the room. All to say that, amazingly, when my parents stepped into the living room, there we three were, queued up with Cheshire cat grins, like the servants of an aristocratic home attending the arrival of the new lady of the house.
Make no mistake, my parents were not cool and most certainly would have not been cool about me smoking weed, anywhere, much less in the house. And yet, somehow, nothing came of it. It was a more innocent time; is it possible they just didn't know the smell of weed? One way or another the occasion passed without incident. The only real perturbation seemed to be the prospect of us scuzzy loafers sprawling our disheveled selves over their plastic covered furniture. So, I can't say with any certainty if they just didn't recognize the weed odor or if, in fact, Kimmy superstar girlfriend of all time, did indeed save the day with her magical powers and somehow get rid of the weed smell.
However, it's unlikely that you know Kimmy (but if you do, drop me a line and let me know, I'd love to catch up with her again), so in all likelihood you are going to need less magical means for weed odor abatement. That's why we're here at How to Get Rid of Weed Smell. We've got the lowdown for you on the gold standard of aromatic discretion.
A dinner invitation to your employer, a next door neighbor, or your in-laws, shouldn't be an aromatically awkward occasion. It doesn't matter if it's legal; some people just remain uncomfortable, for whatever reason, with marijuana smoking. At that point, the choices are trying to change other people's values and preferences to your own - an undertaking equally as notable for its futility as for its vanity - or you can just exercise a little discretion.
I say, if it happens in personal space let it stays in personal space. After all, that's really what personal space is all about, right?
Perhaps somewhat ironically, though, many who today exercise just such conscientious aromatic discretion learned our lesson the hard way, under different circumstances. During my all too misspent youth, in my hometown, there was no doubt about that fact that pot was illegal. Maybe I'm prone to look back with rose colored glasses, but there does seem to have been a kind of innocence to it all which has since been lost. Regardless, it was still verboten.
On this one occasion I recall with amusement, my parents were away for several days. I had my girlfriend of the time, Kimmy (ah, Kimberley, the stories I could tell, but let's not digress) and my good, but rather permanently pot addled pal Dave over. We were sitting in the living room. This incidentally was one of those living rooms from the mid to late 20th century in where the furniture was all covered in plastic. I don't know if younger people today can imagine such a thing. Surely no one today does that. If you know of anyone who still has a living room that is treated as a museum and has all the soft furniture covered in plastic, do let me know in the comments section. I'd be fascinated to hear.
Well, cutting to the chase, the parents were not expected back for a good 24 hours, but us three, only recently imbibing from Dave's bottomless stash, lounging on the plastic, were jolted from our smoky slumbers by the sound of keys prodding at the lock of the front door. Taken so off guard, I was utterly dazed and confused, and Dave rarely moved too far out of a semi-comatose state, but good old Kimmy, like the superstar she was sprung into action. In an instant she'd bolted across the room and with arms flying about at turbo speed flung open all the living room windows. The she made like a streak of lightening over to where Dave of conked out and in a flourish swooped up the various pieces of his weed kit off the coffee table and stuffed it inside his jacket. I can still picture his laughingly startled expression.
Now, I know that some of you are going to doubt the veracity of this next part. I confess I can't be completely sure of it myself, but what I recollect was that at this point Kimmy darted to the distant end of the room and proceeded to expel tempestuous gusts of exhalation right across the living room, blasting all lingering odor of recent weed straight out of the gaping windows at the other end of the room. All to say that, amazingly, when my parents stepped into the living room, there we three were, queued up with Cheshire cat grins, like the servants of an aristocratic home attending the arrival of the new lady of the house.
Make no mistake, my parents were not cool and most certainly would have not been cool about me smoking weed, anywhere, much less in the house. And yet, somehow, nothing came of it. It was a more innocent time; is it possible they just didn't know the smell of weed? One way or another the occasion passed without incident. The only real perturbation seemed to be the prospect of us scuzzy loafers sprawling our disheveled selves over their plastic covered furniture. So, I can't say with any certainty if they just didn't recognize the weed odor or if, in fact, Kimmy superstar girlfriend of all time, did indeed save the day with her magical powers and somehow get rid of the weed smell.
However, it's unlikely that you know Kimmy (but if you do, drop me a line and let me know, I'd love to catch up with her again), so in all likelihood you are going to need less magical means for weed odor abatement. That's why we're here at How to Get Rid of Weed Smell. We've got the lowdown for you on the gold standard of aromatic discretion.
About the Author:
Mickey Jhonny also writes for the Walking Dead celebration cite, Pretty Much Dead Already. His hit post on The Walking Dead Fanfiction is a must read.
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