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!
Let's face it; you may want to invite for dinner your boss or your next door neighbor, or even your in-laws. If you smoke pot, though, you don't want to create any awkward moments to spoil your dinner party. The truth is lots of people remain uncomfortable with marijuana smoking, regardless of its legality. At that point you can choose to undertake a moral crusade to win them to your side or just skip the whole futile and somewhat vainglorious undertaking and just make an effort to keep your home smelling pleasant for all visitors.
What happens in personal space stays in personal space. In fact, that may well be the very condition of possibility for the existence of personal space. But let's not get too philosophical about the matter.
Ironically though upon reflection, it turns out that even those who now show acute conscientiousness over this kind of aromatic discretion had our own first experience of such concerns in somewhat less pristine circumstances. A story from my own youth might illustrate the point. Certainly in the time and place I grew up there was no mistaking pot as legal. Funnily, however, though it was if anything even more culturally taboo than today, I can't help remembering it as being somehow a more innocent time, when it came to pot.
In any event, this story begins with my parents being away for a few days. My girlfriend at the time, the dishy (and otherwise amazing) Kimberley, was sort of staying with me in the parents' absence and my pal, the more or less perpetually pot addled Dave, had dropped by. We were hanging out in the living room, which was one of those icons of the mid to late 20th century, where the furniture was all covered in fitted plastic. It had a bit of a space station feel to it. Weirdly, for a while there, this was a popular choice for living room decor. The antiseptic look, you might call it.
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.
Look, my parents weren't exactly cool in any sense. I don't think they ever smoked pot and I'm certain they would have been more than a little disapproving of me doing so. One way or another, though, all this passed without great incident. If anything, they were distressed at the prospect of such a gaggle of scruffy teenagers lounging over their plastic covered furniture. So, looking back on the incident, I can't really say if it was just that they didn't recognize the smell of weed or if indeed superstar girlfriend Kimmy did exert a bit of her magic to miraculously rid the living room of the odor of culpability.
But, unless you happen to know Kimmy (and if you do, please let me know, I'd like to get in touch with her again), you'll need more conventional methods for dealing with such challenges. 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.
Let's face it; you may want to invite for dinner your boss or your next door neighbor, or even your in-laws. If you smoke pot, though, you don't want to create any awkward moments to spoil your dinner party. The truth is lots of people remain uncomfortable with marijuana smoking, regardless of its legality. At that point you can choose to undertake a moral crusade to win them to your side or just skip the whole futile and somewhat vainglorious undertaking and just make an effort to keep your home smelling pleasant for all visitors.
What happens in personal space stays in personal space. In fact, that may well be the very condition of possibility for the existence of personal space. But let's not get too philosophical about the matter.
Ironically though upon reflection, it turns out that even those who now show acute conscientiousness over this kind of aromatic discretion had our own first experience of such concerns in somewhat less pristine circumstances. A story from my own youth might illustrate the point. Certainly in the time and place I grew up there was no mistaking pot as legal. Funnily, however, though it was if anything even more culturally taboo than today, I can't help remembering it as being somehow a more innocent time, when it came to pot.
In any event, this story begins with my parents being away for a few days. My girlfriend at the time, the dishy (and otherwise amazing) Kimberley, was sort of staying with me in the parents' absence and my pal, the more or less perpetually pot addled Dave, had dropped by. We were hanging out in the living room, which was one of those icons of the mid to late 20th century, where the furniture was all covered in fitted plastic. It had a bit of a space station feel to it. Weirdly, for a while there, this was a popular choice for living room decor. The antiseptic look, you might call it.
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.
Look, my parents weren't exactly cool in any sense. I don't think they ever smoked pot and I'm certain they would have been more than a little disapproving of me doing so. One way or another, though, all this passed without great incident. If anything, they were distressed at the prospect of such a gaggle of scruffy teenagers lounging over their plastic covered furniture. So, looking back on the incident, I can't really say if it was just that they didn't recognize the smell of weed or if indeed superstar girlfriend Kimmy did exert a bit of her magic to miraculously rid the living room of the odor of culpability.
But, unless you happen to know Kimmy (and if you do, please let me know, I'd like to get in touch with her again), you'll need more conventional methods for dealing with such challenges. 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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