The terrors of smoking pot

In my first year of teaching, I took a night course on Human Sexuality that applied toward my permanent teaching certification (not kidding).  The course was offered in a Roman Catholic Church rectory (not kidding).

Sat next to a hottie that I assumed was about my age.  She showed a lot of interest in me, and invited me to dinner at her way out in the middle of nowhere home.
Hoping to get lucky, I brought lots of wine, wore a new shirt, and changed my underwear.
Had a great dinner, and retired to her cozy living room with active fireplace, where we started talking about stuff.  Was surprised to find out that she was 32, instead of my 22. Oh well, I could easily do a Mrs. Robinson.
She pulled out a joint and lit up…we continued talking while inhaling.
Strong stuff! Reality was slipping in and out, and I was a bit worried, but also thought that acts of intimacy might be quite wonderful.
Then she took a deep breath, and started telling a long story..
A previous boyfriend (O Kayyyy)
They loved horses and he had saddled up an untamed horse for a ride (Oh, nooooo)
After an hour, he still had not returned (STOP STOP STOP STOP)
Eventually he was found, on the ground, permanently paralyzed (where are my car keys?)
They tried to make things work, but of course, they didn’t (is this an f’ing Kenny Rogers song?)
Thoughts of scoring the big enchilada were long gone.
“Hey, Tina, dinner was great, gotta go!”
Ran to my car, and proceeded to drive while stupid.  Since the pot was still perking in my system, I got incredibly lost.
An hour’s ride turned into three.
Gave up on Tina…had recurring dreams of performing the nasty deed with her while her boyfriend pops out of the closet with a machete.
That kind of stuff is never a turn on.
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