Su Lum: Slumming | AspenTimes.com

Su Lum: Slumming

Su Lum
The Aspen Times
Aspen, CO, Colorado

My friend Hilary has a massage technique she uses on my dachshunds, Nicky and Freddie, which is nothing short of miraculous, not to mention the source of considerable jealousy on my part.

Seconds after plying her nimble fingers to their bodies, Freddie’s and Nicky’s eyes turn to hypnotic slits of pleasure, and they roll over on their backs, stretch their hams and writhe in ecstasy.

“Show me how to do it,” I demand, but my arthritic hands can’t cut the mustard, and the dachshunds wriggle away from me as quickly as they politely can, clearly disappointed that I don’t have the magic touch.

The other night I had the occasion to ingest some marinara sauce laced with the juices of the green, leafy substance that is still illegal in most states. On the few occasions when I had, in the distant past, smoked this substance, I was less than thrilled. It seemed that when I was ready to call it quits, the substance was just getting started.

On the other hand, I had been considering applying for a leafy-substance license to ease both the arthritis and the killer back pain, and this seemed an excellent opportunity for a free trial offer.

I ladled out a couple of tablespoons of the now-watery sauce from the pasta dish that had been prepared, felt nothing, swallowed another tablespoon, still felt nothing and got ready to go to bed.

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Wham! The substance did not just “hit” me – it flattened me. It was not any kind of “high,” but it gave a new meaning to the word “stoned.” I could barely move; it was an unpleasant sensation that lasted for hours, just as I had remembered.

Don’t even ask if it alleviated my back pain. I was beyond the realm of evaluating that. Suffice to say, if this is the cure, it is worse than the condition. I’m sure it’s different for different people, but green leafy is not the drug for me in joints smoked or in marinara sauce.

While I was lying in bed in the dark regretting the experiment, Nicky and Freddie cuddled up next to me. I began stroking Freddie with my pseudo-massage technique, and after a few moments, instead of bolting, Freddie let go of his skin. I don’t know how else to explain it – one minute he was a dachshund, and the next minute he was a Shar-Pei, his skin loose and floppy. He rolled over, stretched his hams, begging for more. I was massaging!

I tried it on Nicky, whose body is the consistency of a football. “Let go of your skin,” I murmured to him, and with a sigh, he too let go – filled my fingers with soft, furry flesh, rolled over and stretched his hams.

Some people might say it was a positive side effect of the wicked weed, and it might well be true that while under the influence I learned how to let go of my own fingers, but the good thing is that I can still do it. Not as well as Hilary does, but my dachshunds no longer flee my flexing hands.

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