All potheads -and non potheads alike- have heard of the phrase appropriately entitled “the contact high.” Puff. Puff. Pass. Now if you are unfamiliar with this coined affection of contemporary urban slang, let me divulge a bit so you can bring yourself up to speed. Vroom! Vroom! That’s right, mamas here for you. Need a nipple?
A “contact high” is what can happen to the non-smoker. Not just marijuana; but, cigarettes as well whom by, standing in a room filled with second hand smoke, do you inhale – that God-awful- said smoke. Sorry, my smoking friends. And to my non-smokers? You’re not escaping it. But, yeah, you get to breathe it in. Believe me, I’ve tried. Ran, face first into a sliding glass window. Help me. Open! Cough. Cough. A heaping of fresh air to go please?
What happens is, we inhale this crap around us, and we get a headache. Or high. Expect my dramatic performance. From your smoking. I’d like to thank the academy. Thanks a bunch. Sharing is NOT caring, in this case. And this, my newly aware friends, is the contact high.
Which brings me -half circle- to this morning. Not any kind of circle at all really. But anyway. So I was making coffee… As I normally do every morning. Noon. And night. And snack time. And at midnight. Or any other fantastical hour in which I see fit for a brew. And my son comes to me and says “ew. I can’t stand the smell of that crap. I have a contact high.” Ha! What?! And he says he has a headache from the smell in the air from it! A caffeine contact high. Nice. And he ran around the room, attempting his escape.. Face first. Into the sliding glass doors.