Running to the Pot Store in Tap Shoes

Sometimes sex doesn't matter. Sometimes, sexuality doesn't matter. Here I had gone and left tap class early and arranged for SF to babysit, all because I was trying to get to the pot store before it closed. Used to be, when L.A. was a little bit freer, that pot stores could stay open all night. Pharmacies can, after all. Then, some very uptight L.A. city council people decided that they just had to get involved. And of course, they decided that parents, and others, who partake legally of a God-given substance must choose to buy that substance before 8 p.m. I used to be able to do all kinds of things before going to the pot store, doing so only after my children were in bed, or running down to the end of the street before 10 p.m. That's right: 10 p.m.

Those were the days, before the L.A. City Council started trying to control our lives. And so, tonight, I found myself running to the pot store. Literally. Fresh Air on NPR had just signed off for the evening. It was right at 8 p.m. I found a parking space. I got out, still in my tap shoes, tapped down to Burbank Blvd. and turned right, still running and tapping, until I got to the door. One of the black guys who works there opened the door for me. He has a really nice smile. He let me in. I went back to the room where you actually buy the pot. I had wanted to get there because the edibles are two-for-one on Fridays. I ran and I got there. In tap shoes.

Tonight, they had Snicker bars. I certainly like that kind of thing better than smoking. And I certainly like buying it legally, even if the Feds seem to be working with the L.A. City Council these days, trying once again to shut some pot stores down. I love the Snickers pot bars--they are lovely.

And so, I tapped back to the HO and went to Whole Foods, Snickers in the vehicle. Yum.