A cold one & a rolled one

Under the clear dark desert night roars a campfire. Seated around the blaze are family and friends. My family and my friends. This is the way it was when I was a kid. And, hopefully, this is the way it'll be when I'm old.

As of now, I'm neither young nor old. Just perfectly situated in the middle - snug as a bug in a rug. And that's just how I felt as the vino started to soften the edges. Amazing how the grime of daily life washes right off with a couple of glasses.

Wine may clean the grime, but a joint will dirtier it beyond recognition - like a pair of jeans fresh out the drier, only to be stained anew.

After smoking enough grass to floor an elephant, we began to play Trivial Pursuit. A difficult game at the best of times, it becomes down right comical under the influence. The only things I remember are asking to have the questions repeated, watching my parents' close personal friends eat their weight in Dorritos and, of course, lots and lots of giggling smiles.

In a game like that winners and losers are not separated by IQ points, but rather functioning brain cells. Though, I must say, the true winners were the ones who woke up the next morning without a throbbing head and an achy belly. Being on the losing side in all accounts, I woke up the next morning to hear my mom cheerily exclaim, "I only took a tiny toke."

I was caught half admiring her discretion and half peeing myself that my mother just said, "toke."

She had woken at the crack of dawn, no doubt, and was now recounting the night's hilarity to an abstemious friend, who upon hearing the tale proclaimed: "You had a cold one and a rolled one!"

Indeed.