Last week Colorado mom Kiri Westby’s piece in the Huffington Post, “Confessions of a Pothead Mom,” sparked controversy and blazed bright across the internets and all the way to my lil’ bitch’in corner of the world.
A BBF posted the piece on Facebook and wanted to know what I thought about it and the question of pothead moms in general — particularly with a couple of teens in the house. The truth is that I don’t smoke weed, and that was a personal choice I made decades ago when I realized that marijuana and anxiety go together as well as the munchies and an empty pantry. So no worries that a babysitter would find anything of real interest should she rifle through my underwear draw as Kiri did when she was a young weed-snatcher. All a sitter would find is what’s left of my panty collection post-closet unfucking.
Still, unlike Kiri, who is worried that people might judge her for being a pothead, I’m uncomfortable with being judged as an uptight, self-righteous, anti-drug person. Because that’s not who I am at all — I am all for personal freedoms, and I would be a hypocrite if I said I don’t use alcohol to alter my consciousness on occasion… because I do.