You know you’re middle-aged when you start rotting from the inside out. After an unpleasant trip to her local dentist for a tooth extraction, a middle-aged woman is given a prescription to ease the pain. Entering the pharmacy to discover a lengthy queue, courtesy of the lunchtime rush, she heads home.
No sooner is she inside her house but she hears an ominous noise coming from upstairs. Shucking her coat she goes to investigate and discovers her teenage son has skipped school to get stoned with a friend in his bedroom.
Horrified, she collects all of her son’s paraphernalia, his bong, grinder and various accoutrement and throws them in the bin - turfing the friend out before dumping the bin outside. She’s heard the stories; she knows how it goes - Cannabis is a gateway drug and soon he’ll be promoted to Heroin. Not the personal development she had in mind for her one and only.
Plagued by images of her son’s drug-filled future, she makes him clean the house from top-tobottom. As her fury wanes, she cooks him dinner trying desperately to understand the path that led him to making these choices.
She sends her son to bed and, as the day draws to a close, remembers the prescription she was given only that morning. Rushing back to the pharmacy to find it has closed.
Unable to sleep, with her mouth throbbing, she goes in search of something to soothe the pain; first a bag of peas and then…she remembers the bin; and all the stories on the news about medicinal cannabis. Could it…should she?
Riffling through the outdoor bin she recovers the bag and heads inside, hunting around for material among bits of broken bong, she tries in vain to roll herself a joint - how hard can it be? Apparently much harder than it looks. When the pain becomes too much to bear, she eats humble pie and asks her son for help. He rolls her a joint from a secret stash he kept hidden away. She takes it, thankful.