Larry, Champion of Gender Equality and Recreational Drug Use
Today was my first day back at work following an absence of approximately three weeks, during which I did nothing more productive than manage to get the cat litter out every day, read three fantastic books, and keep up with my toenail-painting. Larry seemed happy to see me and spent the better part of the afternoon updating me on his recent kayaking trips (he owns seven kayaks), the money he’s made from selling homemade yard sprinklers on Craigslist (about $300 per week), and waxing nostalgic about the time he went hang gliding (”I almost shat myself when we lifted off, but after that it was the most pleasant feeling”).
Naturally, the conversation turned to drugs.
Fans of Larry will recall his unabiding devotion to Craigslist, where he clocks a not insignificant amount of time every day updating his ads for homemade sprinklers and perusing the local “Rants and Raves” section. Today Larry, after reminiscing about his hang gliding experience, began chatting disconsolately about legalizing marijuana and how it was such a damn shame the government was so uptight about it. He recalled ads he’d seen on Craigslist offering hydroponic growing equipment for sale, stating rather disgustedly, “You can just tell that some federal buttfuck wrote that shit to try and snare some dumbass hippie.”
I agreed about the federal buttfuckage and told Larry about one of the librarians in the School of Social Work, a prim and proper matron who, if you saw her on the street, you would instantly pick out as a librarian but who is also a staunch advocate for the legalization of marijuana and often pickets in front of the building on her days off with signs urging the government to legalize. I keep signing her petition because, although I am not registered to vote in Michigan, I don’t have the heart to refuse when she starts talking about hemp poultices and how smoking the occasional bowl has cured her lifelong insomnia.
“Feel my shirt!” said Larry.
“Um…” I said.
“Go on! It’s made outta pot.” He proudly pinched off a chunk of t-shirt for me to touch, which I did and promptly proclaimed the softest fabric I’d ever felt. “Hemp!”
Later on, I read several of my co-workers, including Larry, this article. Larry informed me in all seriousness that his wife does make biscuits from scratch, because they are cheaper. “But I have to make the sausage gravy,” he grumbled. I told him I was glad he lived in a gender-equitable household, to which he replied, “Oh yeah, I cook, she cleans up, or vice-a versa. If I’m really feelin’ sweet, or if I’ve made a big mess say after bringin’ in a deer, I’ll cook and clean up. Then she’ll let me do her.”
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