TITLE: An Irish Adventure
GENRE: Women's Fiction
Max was the boyfriend I had wanted all my life. He was cute and funny, with a mop of curly wheat-colored curls and a bohemian dress-style of frayed cords and moth-eaten argyle sweaters. He read complicated, eclectic books like “Being and Time”, wrote poetry and composed songs. And he was an amazing kisser. He just had this incredible innate skill in knowing what felt good. I could kiss him for hours.
Unfortunately, Max also liked to smoke up several times a day. He would smoke a bowl as soon as he got up and seldom had a waking hour where he wasn’t high. Before we started dating I hadn’t minded his pot addiction, since he always seemed just as witty and sweet whether he was high or not. But after a while, I got fed up with the way his life centered on the next time he would be lighting up a joint.
“Just go through one day without smoking up,” I begged him one night. “It would mean so much to me.”
“You really think you’d like me better if I didn’t smoke up?” he asked.
“I really think I would.”
He promised that very next day would be totally drug-free.
The following afternoon we walked to the park by the lakeshore and climbed around the rocks lining the beach, enjoying a rare warm spell during the usually bitter Chicago winter.
“See?” I told him, “You don’t have to get high to have a good time.”
Max laughed so long and hysterically I began to feel suspicious.