We were making pursed-lips faces like Cliff Huxtable while listening to 88.9 Jazz FM this evening. Both of us felt better about our days spent outside of the apartment instead of allowing anxiety to fester in the apartment. We felt like contributing members of society for that moment. Then my sister pulled out a bundle of sage, lit it on fire on the gas stove, and waved the smoldering sticks in every area of the house.
And then suddenly, we realized that it stank. Like disgusting. It was so familiar, but we couldn't define it. My sister quickly admitted she had never tried this keeping away of evil spirits before and lurched to open some windows. At that moment, our employed roommate who leaves the apartment no later than 5:45am and returns home no earlier than 8pm walked into the room. And that's when we quickly identified the familiarity of the burning sage stink...it was just like pot. Nothing I've ever tried but am quite familiar with the scent thanks to living right behind Fraternity Row in college.
Our roommate walked in to find two sisters, at home, with zero employment between them, on a weekday evening, with a cloud sitting in the middle of the room. What a scene.