We here at How to Get Rid of Weed Smell, of course, do not promote illegal activities. However, there are now so many jurisdictions in the U.S. in which pot has been decriminalized, either for medical or even recreational purposes, that a concern with getting rid of the rather distinctive odor is just a matter of good decorum.
Let's face it; you may want to invite for dinner your boss or your next door neighbor, or even your in-laws. If you smoke pot, though, you don't want to create any awkward moments to spoil your dinner party. The truth is lots of people remain uncomfortable with marijuana smoking, regardless of its legality. At that point you can choose to undertake a moral crusade to win them to your side or just skip the whole futile and somewhat vainglorious undertaking and just make an effort to keep your home smelling pleasant for all visitors.
What happens in personal space stays in personal space. In fact, that may well be the very condition of possibility for the existence of personal space. But let's not get too philosophical about the matter.
Perhaps somewhat ironically, though, many who today exercise just such conscientious aromatic discretion learned our lesson the hard way, under different circumstances. During my all too misspent youth, in my hometown, there was no doubt about that fact that pot was illegal. Maybe I'm prone to look back with rose colored glasses, but there does seem to have been a kind of innocence to it all which has since been lost. Regardless, it was still verboten.
In any event, this story begins with my parents being away for a few days. My girlfriend at the time, the dishy (and otherwise amazing) Kimberley, was sort of staying with me in the parents' absence and my pal, the more or less perpetually pot addled Dave, had dropped by. We were hanging out in the living room, which was one of those icons of the mid to late 20th century, where the furniture was all covered in fitted plastic. It had a bit of a space station feel to it. Weirdly, for a while there, this was a popular choice for living room decor. The antiseptic look, you might call it.
Alas, despite my best efforts, I digress. Well, there we are, the three of us, having only just recently imbibed from Dave's perpetual stash, splayed in our teenage languish over the plastic furniture. Then, horror of horrors, the distinctive sound of keys prodding at the front door lock shocked us out of our reveries. Well, all but Dave, in a state of infinite reverie, I expect. Even I though, taken off guard, was rather dazed and confused. Good old Kimmy, though, was her usual rockstar in action. Like a coiled cat she sprung from the couch and dashed the length of the living room, like some kind of crazy wizard, her arms flayed about with mystical speed, throwing open all the living room windows. She then flew like the wind back across the room, where, in a death-defying flourish, in one fell sweep, she scooped up Dave's various weed paraphernalia off the coffee table, proceeding to stick it inside his jacket.
I confess, I'm not entirely sure how certain I can be about this next part, but as I recall it, she then flashed across the room, opposite the open windows, and rapidly exhaled great gusts of air right through the entire living room. Miraculously, it would seem, this had the effect of completely sweeping any lingering smell of pot out the a-gape windows. Amazingly, by the time my parents arrived in the living room, there we were, the three of us, standing in single file, our faces sporting vaguely absurd smiles: perhaps reminiscent of the service staff employed at a mansion attentively awaiting arrival of a new lady of the house.
Look, my parents weren't exactly cool in any sense. I don't think they ever smoked pot and I'm certain they would have been more than a little disapproving of me doing so. One way or another, though, all this passed without great incident. If anything, they were distressed at the prospect of such a gaggle of scruffy teenagers lounging over their plastic covered furniture. So, looking back on the incident, I can't really say if it was just that they didn't recognize the smell of weed or if indeed superstar girlfriend Kimmy did exert a bit of her magic to miraculously rid the living room of the odor of culpability.
The bottom line for you, though, is that unless you have the extraordinary good fortune of knowing Kimmy (and if you do, please let me know, I'd like to get in touch with her again), you'll be needing more conventional weed smell abatement strategies. Fortunately for you, we're here on the job at How to Get Rid of Weed Smell, providing the gold standard of aromatic discretion.
Let's face it; you may want to invite for dinner your boss or your next door neighbor, or even your in-laws. If you smoke pot, though, you don't want to create any awkward moments to spoil your dinner party. The truth is lots of people remain uncomfortable with marijuana smoking, regardless of its legality. At that point you can choose to undertake a moral crusade to win them to your side or just skip the whole futile and somewhat vainglorious undertaking and just make an effort to keep your home smelling pleasant for all visitors.
What happens in personal space stays in personal space. In fact, that may well be the very condition of possibility for the existence of personal space. But let's not get too philosophical about the matter.
Perhaps somewhat ironically, though, many who today exercise just such conscientious aromatic discretion learned our lesson the hard way, under different circumstances. During my all too misspent youth, in my hometown, there was no doubt about that fact that pot was illegal. Maybe I'm prone to look back with rose colored glasses, but there does seem to have been a kind of innocence to it all which has since been lost. Regardless, it was still verboten.
In any event, this story begins with my parents being away for a few days. My girlfriend at the time, the dishy (and otherwise amazing) Kimberley, was sort of staying with me in the parents' absence and my pal, the more or less perpetually pot addled Dave, had dropped by. We were hanging out in the living room, which was one of those icons of the mid to late 20th century, where the furniture was all covered in fitted plastic. It had a bit of a space station feel to it. Weirdly, for a while there, this was a popular choice for living room decor. The antiseptic look, you might call it.
Alas, despite my best efforts, I digress. Well, there we are, the three of us, having only just recently imbibed from Dave's perpetual stash, splayed in our teenage languish over the plastic furniture. Then, horror of horrors, the distinctive sound of keys prodding at the front door lock shocked us out of our reveries. Well, all but Dave, in a state of infinite reverie, I expect. Even I though, taken off guard, was rather dazed and confused. Good old Kimmy, though, was her usual rockstar in action. Like a coiled cat she sprung from the couch and dashed the length of the living room, like some kind of crazy wizard, her arms flayed about with mystical speed, throwing open all the living room windows. She then flew like the wind back across the room, where, in a death-defying flourish, in one fell sweep, she scooped up Dave's various weed paraphernalia off the coffee table, proceeding to stick it inside his jacket.
I confess, I'm not entirely sure how certain I can be about this next part, but as I recall it, she then flashed across the room, opposite the open windows, and rapidly exhaled great gusts of air right through the entire living room. Miraculously, it would seem, this had the effect of completely sweeping any lingering smell of pot out the a-gape windows. Amazingly, by the time my parents arrived in the living room, there we were, the three of us, standing in single file, our faces sporting vaguely absurd smiles: perhaps reminiscent of the service staff employed at a mansion attentively awaiting arrival of a new lady of the house.
Look, my parents weren't exactly cool in any sense. I don't think they ever smoked pot and I'm certain they would have been more than a little disapproving of me doing so. One way or another, though, all this passed without great incident. If anything, they were distressed at the prospect of such a gaggle of scruffy teenagers lounging over their plastic covered furniture. So, looking back on the incident, I can't really say if it was just that they didn't recognize the smell of weed or if indeed superstar girlfriend Kimmy did exert a bit of her magic to miraculously rid the living room of the odor of culpability.
The bottom line for you, though, is that unless you have the extraordinary good fortune of knowing Kimmy (and if you do, please let me know, I'd like to get in touch with her again), you'll be needing more conventional weed smell abatement strategies. Fortunately for you, we're here on the job at How to Get Rid of Weed Smell, providing the gold standard of aromatic discretion.
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